


Ars Moriendi

by Marzipan77



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s04e17 Absolute Power, Gen, Kidnapping, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, Self-Doubt, Team Dynamics, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzipan77/pseuds/Marzipan77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after Absolute Power in Season 4. This is a retelling of the episode Memento Mori from Season 10, but putting it in Season 4 with the original team. In that episode, Vala was kidnapped by a former enemy Goa'uld who uses Tok'ra memory devices to try to find the location of a treasure. The device overloads and Vala's memories are erased. As she struggles to remember, the team struggles to get her back. In this re-telling, Daniel is still struggling with the remnants of Shifu's "dream" as well as the team difficulties of a Season 4 that included The Other Side and Divide and Conquer. Jack/Sam shippers should be warned to give this one a pass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Some of the language translation is taken from Google Translate, and, since I don't speak Italian, is liable to be hilarious to those who do. Also, many lines are taken directly from the episode Momento Mori. No infringement of ownership rights is intended: this not for profit, simply borrowing them for fun and mischief and fandom love.
> 
> Many thanks: To eilidh17 for continued fandom poking and prodding and trout management, for her screencap challenge which inspired this fic, and for friendship. To Barbs for her very excellent and quick beta skills in which she fixed much that was broken. Any remaining errors are mine, all mine!
> 
> This fic is finished (as opposed to the NCIS fic "A Handful of Dust" which I am not abandoning, I promise!) and will be completely uploaded by the end of the week.

The Ars Moriendi ("The Art of Dying") are two related Latin texts dating from about 1415 and 1450 which offer advice on the protocols and procedures of a good death, explaining how to "die well" according to Christian precepts of the late Middle Ages. It was written within the historical context of the effects of the macabre horrors of the Black Death 60 years earlier and consequent social upheavals of the 15th century. "Pride of spirit" is one of the five temptations of the dying man which he must overcome.

Pt I

"Hello and welcome to Solomon's. My name is Dan. Have you had a chance to look over today's selections? Solomon is focusing on wines of the Italian piedmont tonight, his favorite region," he smiled in the usual place during this often-repeated spiel. "Or, if you're more in the mood for coffee, I'd suggest the Blue Mountain from Jamaica, or, if you're more patriotically minded, the Molokai Coffee from Hawaii just came in fresh this morning."

The older man in the tweed jacket – clearly in charge of his table-mates – barely glanced at the menu board Dan had meticulously lettered earlier in the day. "Four glasses of the Barolo," he said, nose high enough in the air to threaten low-flying aircraft.

"Very good," the aproned server nodded, hands behind his back. "I can recommend the charcuterie board if you'd like a bite to eat."

"Oh, yes, Allan, let's have that," the highlighted blonde smiled up into Dan's eyes. "Whatever you recommend, Dan," she leaned forward to read his nametag, coincidentally showing off her upper assets to everyone at the table, "sounds fine to me."

Dan adjusted his glasses, uncomfortable at the woman's obvious flirtation. "Great. I'll be right back."

On his way to the gleaming high-topped service bar, Dan caught a flash of light from the corner of his eye. There. On the sidewalk outside the pick-up door. Two young men – barely twenty if he had to guess – were whispering together just beyond Solomon's diffused outdoor lighting.

There had been a slew of robberies in the area lately. Masked gunmen raiding high-end restaurants and stores during the height of their business hours, hitting them fast and getting away with wallets and jewelry before the police could swoop in. Eyes narrowing, Dan brought both hands from his back to hang, open and ready, at his sides. Something in his mind shifted, turning off the ever-churning search for any hint, any glimpse of his past and priming his muscles for action.

The blonde flirt's voice dropping behind him, Dan moved to the side entrance, timing his arrival to match the two would-be thieves'. He struck the crash bar on the door sharply, catching one boy as he was struggling to put on his ski mask with one hand. The door smacked the boy's gun hand, sending the pistol skittering off into the shadows.

Dan targeted the other kid, knocking the gun wide so he could step in and bang the heel of his hand into the gunman's nose. The immediate rush of blood and pain sent the kid stumbling backwards, both hands to his face. Dan snatched the pistol from the thief, checked the safety, and settled into a two handed stance that covered both kids.

"On the ground. Now," he barked.

He heard the door open behind him and his boss's distinctive baritone speak out.

"Dan! What – what is happening?"

"Dude, you broke my nose!"

Dan didn't bother responding to the obvious. "Call 911, Sol. And see if you can locate the other gun." He jerked his head to the right.

"Gun? I'm not touching a gun!"

Teeth clenched, Dan barely kept himself from rolling his eyes at Sol's put-on aura of disgust at such a suggestion. "Don't pick it up, just nudge it over here by me," he said quietly. Not the time or the place for a discussion of survival tactics. Something behind Dan's brain smirked at him, a familiarly unfamiliar voice demanding to know when the hell 'survival tactics' had sunk in.

"Hey!" Dan set one foot down on the uninjured kid's hand. "Stop moving or I might just forget I'm a nice, peaceful ex – ah – guy."

Sol did what he was told, for once, gingerly sliding the gun to rest between Dan and the wine café's wall.

"Peaceful, huh?" the kid with the broken nose seemed to be crying. "You could have fooled me."

Dan frowned, a glimmer of déjà vu peeking out from behind the grey fog of his memory. A dark room, light slanting in from a half-opened door. A painful charge of rage and terror gripping his guts. The gun in his hand. Sweat and guilt and nausea blurring his vision.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

In a moment it was gone. Dan stood, a gun fitting comfortably in his hands, his aim and position automatic. Sirens in the distance barely registered as he turned to meet his boss's – his only friend's – eyes. Eyes that usually held compassion. Understanding. And now held fear.

"Dan – cos'hai fatto?” [What have you done?]

Three weeks earlier

"I can't believe they let us back in here so soon. Or at all."

Daniel glanced across the table at Teal'c's smug expression. "I think it had more to do with Teal'c taking formal responsibility for our actions than Jack's run-on, half-assed apology, Sam."

"Hey, I'll have you know that apology was a masterpiece of diplomacy and ass-kissing that you couldn't hope to match with your best 'peaceful explorer' dance, Doctor Jackson." Jack lifted his beer bottle and leaned back against the booth's faux leather backrest. He pointed the bottle towards Daniel. "You're just jealous that this old soldier succeeded when you failed, Mister I'm-the-one-who-started-the-fight-in-the-first-place."

Chagrined – again – by that little reminder of his Atonik fueled aggression, Daniel ducked his head. Aggression. Anger. Violence. He'd had a lot of reminders of the true state of his soul lately, a state very different from what he'd always assumed. Hoped. Valued about himself.

The onslaught of images from Shifu's dream came without warning, blindsiding him, as they always did. Daniel wearing a Goa'uld hand device, attacking Jack. Eyes glowing, torturing Teal'c. Shutting Sam in prison. He reached for his wine glass and took a mouthful of the Malbec, wishing it were something stronger. Much, much stronger.

"I believe it was O'Neill's offering of his gold credit card that finally persuaded the owner to permit our supper here."

Sam leaned in, pushing back her empty plate to put her elbows on the table. "You gave them your credit card, sir?"

Teasing. Blond hair sparkling in the room's amber lighting, Sam nearly smoldered, watching Jack for his reaction. Daniel couldn't help but follow the bouncing ball back to Jack's court while he raised his glass again. He was going to need a lot more than wine if those two were going to start up the flirting. He settled for closing his eyes for a moment and wondered why, if there were infinite realities out there as they'd suspected, he couldn't have woken up from his nightmare in one where Jack and Sam were good friends and teammates and hadn't taken it all a step too far.

Jack scratched at the back of his neck: thirty percent uncomfortable, seventy percent preening. "Maybe. I might have told the guy to charge the damage plus twenty percent as a good will gesture." He smiled smugly. “It may say 'colonel' on my uniform, but my middle name is flexibility.” He pointed a finger at Daniel. "Don't say I never learned anything about groveling and bribery, Daniel."

_Jack stood in the great room of Daniel's mansion, hands in his pockets, presenting Daniel with the bland face of friendship that was barely thick enough to mask the doubt and suspicion beneath. Did he think Daniel wouldn't know? That he was so stupid as to allow a weapon to be smuggled into his home, his command base, today of all days? Jack O'Neill could have been his right hand, his general. He could have offered Daniel his obedience and fealty and fought the Goa'uld at his side just as Daniel had once fought at his. Instead, Jack had been quietly undermining him, sowing doubt, listening to Carter instead of believing what Daniel told him. Again. And, now finally, he'd come not to praise Daniel for his victory, but to kill him._

_The fool hadn’t hesitated to bring up his weapon. To point it at Daniel, his so-called best friend. To pull the trigger. Snarling, Daniel had put him in his place. "You've never been very bright."_

A light touch on his arm brought Daniel back to the table. He met Sam's concerned gaze with an automatic smile.

"Back with us?"

"Sorry," he offered over the curve of his wine glass.

Sam rubbed his shoulder. "I wish you'd tell us about your dream, Daniel. It might help."

"Oh," Daniel adjusted his glasses, "I think I seem flaky enough to all of you already without a side trip through my nightmares." No way was he going to tell them about the dreams. About his arrogance. How easily he accepted the Goa'uld's megalomania, the utter certainty of his superiority and the brutality of his actions. The way his mind made caricatures of them all. Teal'c, the warrior who couldn't see beyond his orders. Sam, the jealous sibling who wavered between screaming shrew and pouting, eyelash batting 'poor little me'. And Jack. One time best friend who'd walked away rather than keep up the fight under Daniel's command.

He tipped another sip of his wine into his mouth. And then another. "This helps."

"The wine or our sparkling company," Jack asked.

Daniel nodded. "A little of both." His team. His friends. He'd take them any way he could get them, warts and all. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.

Teal'c's sudden solemnity drew Daniel's gaze. "I barely touched the mind of my symbiote when Shaunac came to me with her plea." His voice was low, the rumbling words barely carrying across the small booth. "And yet the evil that I found there made my spirit shrink back in fear. I cannot imagine the pain that would be caused by its constant influence."

Daniel rubbed at his temple. Pain wasn't quite right. Oh, there was pain, he nodded to himself, but only after he'd woken up and realized just how quickly all of his much vaunted love of peace and friendship was thrown away when power was offered to him. Absolute power. No matter how much Daniel might like to believe he'd be a benevolent dictator, the truth was far too easy to see. He turned his head, gazing across O'Malley's crowded floor towards the pool tables. Whether it was an alien armband or technical know-how downloaded directly into his brain, Daniel's subconscious grabbed at power with both hands and wouldn't let anyone tear it away from him. Anyone.

Aggression didn't lie very far below Daniel's surface. Cruel and ruthless aggression.

"So, how about those Blackhawks?"

Jack's loud, insistent voice cut through the tension and Daniel shot the man a grateful grin.

Sam joined in, eyes twinkling. "Basketball, right?"

"Ouch." Jack pressed one hand against his chest. "You wound me, Carter."

Daniel quieted his mind, watching the churning undercurrents he'd been noticing more and more frequently between them. The slight mellowing of Jack's eyes. The way Sam's glance slid sideways, lips curling into a secret smile. Teal'c's jaw muscle jumped as he held himself motionless between them. Daniel took another sip of wine, his stomach knotting. He wanted to look away, to paste on that 'oblivious academic' mask he'd learned to wear. To tighten down his emotions.

He snorted into his glass. Not likely. Something else Daniel could thank Shifu's lesson for – his hair trigger. Every thought – every feeling rose immediately to the surface. Janet blamed it on his out-of-whack brain chemistry. All Daniel knew was that he couldn't keep his temper or any other emotion tightened down under his usual guise of bookish peacemaker. He'd nearly slammed an airman into the wall yesterday when he'd dared to nudge Daniel in the SGC corridor. Yeah. That reaction had him hiding in his office for the past 18 hours, until Jack had grabbed him by the elbow and frog-marched him off base.

But this, this was too much. Daniel dropped his gaze to the table, making patterns in the few drops of spilled red wine with one finger. The blissful ignorance. The dance of 'see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil' that seemed to be required of him and Teal'c as their teammates made googly eyes at each other. Of happy-go-lucky teammate who didn't notice Sam and Jack standing a little too close or slipping away together. He didn't know now much more of that he could stand.

His team. His friends. None of them was perfect, he reminded himself. Who the hell was he to judge?

Daniel considered his plan again. His talk with Janet and her medical - and compassionate – suggestions looming as large in his memory as his sudden anger and knee-jerk reactions. It would wear off, she said. But it was going to take time. He nodded to himself. Yeah. Time. Time away. Time to find himself again without the constant reminders of who he didn't want to be popping up every time his friends said the wrong thing. Time to sort out his emotions and come to grips with the changes. Changes in SG-1. In Jack's distance. And in Daniel's bright new technicolor awareness of his own weaknesses.

Decision made, after a few minutes of his team's meaningless banter, Daniel was able to ease back against the booth, safe in the familiar back and forth, the same quiet arguments that filled their evenings on Earth or amidst their tents on other worlds. Jack promoting hockey and fishing, Teal'c raising a cocky eyebrow, and Sam poking at the "menfolk" and their caveman ways. If it sounded a bit forced, a little awkward, well, maybe that wasn't so much because Jack and Sam – and Teal'c – had changed, but because Daniel had. Because, his eyes being opened to the filth in his own spirit, he looked out at them all with jaded, bitter, resentful eyes.

“So ...” Daniel began during a conversational lull.

“So? Yes? Therefore?” Jack raised one hand to summon the server, making a 'check' sign in the air.

“So, I spoke with Janet, and we've both agreed.” Daniel adjusted his glasses, hunching his shoulders a little as he anticipated his team's reaction. “I'm taking a week off. Just a week,” he hurried to add before the others weighed in. “I need to – I have to try to –" He trailed off, shaking his head.

“To wrap your head around it?”

A snarling voice from the back of his brain demanded Daniel answer Jack with a question of his own. 'Around what, Jack? About your stupidity or the game you're playing with Sam?' Luckily, Daniel was neither drunk enough nor suicidal enough – nor hateful enough - to let those words out of his mouth.

“Yes. Give my body time to get back to normal. Not to mention my brain.” He tried a smile and glanced up to see Sam matching it with one of hers. Tears threatened. God, he missed her, too.

“I think that sounds like a great idea, Daniel.” She set her hand on top of his arm. “Janet told me Shifu's method of 'teaching' took a lot out of you. You deserve a break.”

“Indeed.” Teal'c inclined his head, the equivalent of a warm smile. “The being known as Shifu was very powerful yet still very young. His method of 'teaching,' while meant to protect himself as well as the Tau'ri, was difficult.” The Jaffa's eyes were shadowed with concern. “The Goa'uld's evil is more powerful than the best of your intentions, DanielJackson. As you sort these fleeting images you retain, remember to weigh and measure them against what you know to be true of your own soul.”

Daniel paused, warmed to the heart by his friend's statement. The itch of his skin, the pressure that seemed to press him inward into a tight ball of resentment faded.

“Well said,” Jack added, not quite meeting Daniel's eyes as he greeted their server with the flash of gold plastic and shooed her away. The colonel leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Maybe you need some time, Daniel. But not to brood. I know brooding and it doesn't lead anywhere you want to go.”

The comfort that had bloomed from Teal'c's words vanished in a puff of irritation. “I don't intend to brood, Jack.”

“No one 'intends' to brood, Daniel,” fingers crooking, Jack snapped back. “But brooding happens. So, go ahead, take your time. We'll leave you alone if that's what you want.”

“No you won't.”

“No, we won't,” Jack smiled. “But I promise to call first.”

Daniel chuckled darkly and shook his head. Once upon a time, Jack would be camping out in Daniel's living room, complaining about the lack of cable sports channels and the quality of Daniel's beer before he could blink. Teal'c would call him with some pretend guilt about never getting off base and ask for Daniel to take him to the movies. And Sam would stop by with groceries, looking all innocent before Daniel offered to make dinner for them as repayment for her thoughtfulness. He frowned into his empty glass. “And I promise to eat and sleep and take my vitamins,” he murmured in a broken echo of better times.

“Well listen to that. Miracles do happen.”

SG SG SG SG SG SG

His car still at the base after Jack had hauled him into his truck, Daniel stood next to the cab and watched his teammates in the dark parking lot. Jack was taking Teal'c back to base so that Sam could head straight home, so the three walked slowly towards the puddle of light that surrounded their vehicles. Teal'c, protectively bringing up the rear just as he did off-world, turned to look back over his shoulder, meeting Daniel's eyes. There was a question there. A question and an offer. Daniel sighed. Who could possibly have guessed that Daniel and Teal'c's friendship was what might get him through this? The enemy Jaffa that had stolen his wife and offered her to his 'god' as a slave, who had taken the shot that had ended her life and Daniel's hope, would be the rock that Daniel could hold on to when everything changed. When Jack stepped away. When roles and attitudes and friendships were distorted, shifting like sand beneath his feet. When, more than ever before, Daniel doubted himself.

He took a deep breath of the clean mountain air.

The cabby knocked his fingers on the window. “Hey, buddy, you about ready?”

Snorting, Daniel took another look at Jack's silver hair and Sam's blond, sparks flying from the overhead lighting, bent together. Sparks flying. “Indeed,” Daniel whispered.

He slid into the back seat and didn't quite slam the door.

SG SG SG SG SG SG

Daniel frowned, aware of darkness. The smell of metal and dust and decay. His body felt sluggish. Sodden. Weighed down by water or pressed down by air. Not on his bed. It was narrow and hard, no pillow under his head. Infirmary? The tell-tale beeps were silent.

Voices murmured, but not familiar voices. Three men. One with a strange duality in his tone that meant … something.

A dream? Was he still in the dream? A flash of fear stabbed at him, sent his heart racing and his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Restraints? What happened? What had he done now? Who had he hurt? One hand on his arm was enough to snap his eyes open. He caught his breath. Stopped struggling.

“Take it easy, Doctor Jackson.”

“Do I know you?” Eyes wide, Daniel looked beyond the sandy-haired man's patently false smile to the flat metal walls, rust and dirt encrusted, set off by the anachronistic technology sitting on makeshift tables to his left. Something like a Zatarc detector without the eye-lens was wired to a couple of laptops, and another stranger leaned over the controls as if he knew just what to do with it.

He sifted through his memories. Shifu, angelic-faced child surrounded by tentacles of light as he fled through the Stargate. Child of his wife and a monster, learning at the feet of an ancient, ascended being. Leaving Daniel behind. Anger and bitterness tasted like copper pennies on his tongue. No, Daniel shook himself. That was blood. He tongued the sore on his left cheek where he'd bitten himself. What – where - The team sitting around a table at O'Malley's leaped into his mind. Watching Sam and Jack and Teal'c walk away in the dark. The cab had smelled of cigarette smoke and cracked plastic.

The lassitude in his limbs, the grey fog in his mind, and the restraints around wrists and ankles – right. He'd been drugged. He knew that cab driver had been too competent. Too careful. He remembered the man stopping at a light halfway to Daniel's apartment, chattering incessantly. The back door had opened and the man standing over him now had lunged into the back seat, a syringe in his hand.

The man smiled. “We're going to become good friends.”

“Enough.”

Double-voiced. A Goa'uld. Here, on Earth. No, Daniel changed his mind as the small-statured figure stepped forward. A Tok'ra. “Aldwin?”

His eyes flashed gold.

Okay, maybe a Goa'uld after all, Daniel decided. “What the hell? How did you get back to Earth?”

“Suffice it to say that I did, Doctor Jackson. And, this time, there is nothing to stop me from getting the information that you and the SGC determined to keep from us. The genetic memory of the Goa'uld.” He snarled. “Did you think the Tok'ra would simply step aside to allow your upstart race to become the guardians of this knowledge? To dole it out to us in bits and pieces when the entirety of it could save our race?”

Daniel lunged forward and then was snapped back to the cot by the thick restraints. “You mean like the Tok'ra do to us every single time we need your help? Or even when you come to us, asking for our help?” He let his head smack against the thin padding, trying to get some kind of rein on his anger. “Aldwin. We're allies. What – what the hell are you doing?”

The Tok'ra's eyes flashed again. “You do not speak with Aldwin, Doctor Jackson. He is too busy worrying about alliances and consequences to this action to be of any use to the Tok'ra. I have taken over. I am Arawn and you will not find me so easy to dismiss.”

Arawn. Celtic god of Annwn, the underworld. Well, that was just great. “We didn't dismiss you, Arawn. You just don't understand -”

The bland face twisted in a scowl and the Tok'ra leaned over Daniel. “Do not attempt to tell a centuries old Tok'ra what we do not understand about the Goa'uld. Our people are dying, more now than when you and the other Tau'ri remained ignorant of the Stargate and its power. You have done this. You and your SGC. You may consider the Tok'ra pale cousins of the Goa'uld, but, I assure you, we will not continue to allow unblended humans to steal what is rightfully ours!”

The sandy-haired man who had first greeted Daniel moved around the end of the cot to stand at his right. Daniel followed his actions, looking at his hands. No syringe. He turned back to the Tok'ra. “Okay, so this is, what, a revenge thing? Because, it wasn't me that ultimately made the decision not to share the Goa'uld's knowledge. It was Shifu and the Ascended Being that – ouch!”

The sharp pain in Daniel's right temple interrupted him and he pulled away. A memory device. They'd put a memory device on his head. “Okay, now, this is a bad idea.” Fear mixed with anger trailed up from his gut. “Aldwin – Arawn, don't do this.”

“I will do what is necessary to save our people. Whatever is necessary.”

Daniel shook his head, eyes closed. “I don't have it. I don't have the knowledge. Just some vague memories of a dream.” He opened his eyes, meeting the Tok'ra's furious gaze. “Arawn, I'm telling you the truth.”

Both humans were at the device's controls now. One tapping away on the laptop, the other standing before the thing that looked like a Zatarc detector, his hand hovering over the ball controller.

“Of course the full genetic memory of a Goa'uld would drive your inferior human mind insane. You could not hope to retain it in your conscious memory. Luckily we have this device to help us find what we're looking for. To dig out the answers we need.” Arawn stepped back from Daniel's cot and smiled. “Let's begin.”

A lightning bolt of pain struck every nerve at once and Daniel arched off the cot, screams caught up in the bile surging up from his gut. Images slashed across his mind, each one bringing up some stench of death or burning memory of guilt and grief. Sha're standing next to Apophis – shielding him with her body. Screaming. Crying. Giving birth. Walking away from him – again. Daniel lying on Apophis' ha'tak, his chest burned off, bleeding. Dying. Alone. Sha're. The smell of burnt flesh. Dead. Dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify - this is set in Season 4, so there will be no Vala, no Cam, no Landry. And no one loses his pants. Thanks so much for your feedback!

Pt 2

Jack tried to keep himself from jogging ahead of Hammond's purposeful stride. Jack was furious. Gut churning, speech robbing, blind with anger furious. How stupid – how utterly idiotic – damn it, he couldn't think up enough words to describe the way he felt. No. Of course not. Words were Daniel's job. And where was Daniel? Daniel Jackson, teammate, friend, the most important person in the entire Stargate program?

Gone, that's where.

While Jack had his thumb up his ass and his head just around the corner from there, somebody had taken Daniel. Five days. It had taken five days before Jack tried calling Daniel to see how he was doing. When the hell had he ever let five days go by before checking on him? Before checking on any member of his team that had been through half the shit that the proverbial fan kept spewing in Daniel's direction?

Thank God for Teal'c. For Teal'c's not-so-patient insistence that Jack listen to him. For his relentless phone calls, his presence in Jack's office every single time Jack's mind started painting full-color fantasies like some middle-school, pimply faced boy staring up from his bed at his poster of Cindy Crawford. The way the guy shouldered between him and Sam – Carter – in the commissary line, walking down the hallway, or going for a chair in the briefing room. Finally, after another question about whether or not Jack had spoken with Daniel, Jack had turned on the guy, bluntly asking what his deal was.

And, with one question, Teal'c had slapped Jack back to reality. “When would it be appropriate to offer my congratulations to you and to MajorCarter on your upcoming nuptials, O'Neill? I am unaware of Tau'ri customs in this regard. I would also ask which of you will be leaving SG-1?”

No matter how much Jack had stammered and spat denials, his face flushed and his hands fidgeting with everything and anything that came to hand, Teal'c had just sat there, one eyebrow raised to the 'I will wait through this stupidity because I am so much cooler than you' position. Ten minutes later, Jack had come up for air and his little fantasy had broken into pieces all around him. He'd actually looked down, searching the concrete floor for the rainbow colored shards of glass.

Head up his ass was the nicest description Jack could come up with. What the hell had he been doing, marginalizing Daniel and Teal'c so he could hold Carter's hand? Sending them off together off-world so he could bask in the younger woman's regard? Holy Hannah, he was losing it.

Teal'c preferred the old-fashioned method of getting Jack back on an even keel. He rubbed at the purple-black bruise on his shoulder. A couple of hours on the mats against a trained First Prime had knocked all of Jack's romantic pretensions right out of town – and almost knocked Jack's teeth out of his head.

Only then had he called Daniel. Over and over. He'd gone to his apartment. Got the security tapes from the manager. And found out the truth – that Daniel never made it home after their team dinner at O'Malley's.

Teal'c had barely pulled Jack off that cab dispatcher before he'd done the guy some serious damage. It turned out that $250 bucks bought quite a lot these days – including the use of a cab for the night and no questions asked. Jack and his team – three-quarters of his team – might have scared that dispatcher into crapping his pants, but that didn't get them any closer to Daniel.

Jack pressed the heels of both hands into his eyes. A cab. He'd let Daniel call a cab from O'Malley's. What the hell? Who did that? Not a teammate. Not a friend. Certainly not Jack O'Neill.

Not the Jack O'Neill he used to be. The guy who looked out for his people – all of his people, not just the one who smiled and flirted and stood just a little too close to him, making his pride skyrocket. He remembered the sweet low buzz of alcohol in his blood, and much stronger curl of testosterone as Sam lingered beside him in the dark parking lot. He also remembered just how loud Teal'c had slammed the truck's door and the guy's piercing black gaze through the glass that sent something else entirely racing through Jack's nerves. Guilt. Yeah, he knew the taste of guilt much too well.

When Jack had turned back to Sam, he'd seen that she'd moved away, that same familiar guilt in her eyes. Unfortunately, it had taken Jack five freaking days to wrap his head around the huge failure he'd been to his team for months and for Teal'c to get through to him. Five days. Too long.

“Major Carter sent the video files to my office, Colonel," Hammond stated. "Just as you suspected, it looks like two men attacked Doctor Jackson in his cab on the way home from the restaurant last week. All we have are some grainy images and the fingerprints from the door of the taxi.”

'Last week.' Jack heard Hammond's disdain loud and clear. “Yeah, about 35 partials from every Tom, Dick, and Harry that's ridden or driven that cab in weeks. Sir,” Jack's lips tightened, “I'd like your permission to contact Harry Maybourne and get him on board.”

Hammond stopped dead in the corridor. He paused before turning to Jack. “Maybourne. You believe this is an NID operation?”

“It has their particular stench, sir.”

The general's blue eyes were scalding. “And you believe he will help us?”

“I have no intention of taking no for an answer.” Maybourne would help. Oh, he would help all right. “He'd rather have me owe him a favor than find me looking over his shoulder when he gets up to take a leak in the middle of the night. He knows I can find him - that I will find him if he screws me." Especially if he screws me over finding Daniel.

Hammond turned away. “I did not hear you say that, Colonel.”

Jack followed. “Of course not, General.”

“Very well. In the meantime, I'll contact Washington and make sure that Senator Kinsey is out of the picture. And,” the general barely glanced in Jack's direction, “I'll be anxiously awaiting your explanation of how Doctor Jackson was left unaccompanied in the middle of the night in Colorado Springs as if we intended to serve him up to the NID on a platter.”

Jack could have argued. He could have told Hammond that Daniel was a grown man who knew how to take care of himself. That Jack was neither a nursemaid nor his mother and didn't hand-hold the people on his team. That Daniel had pretty much insisted on having some time to himself without certain people hovering. And then he remembered the despair in Daniel's eyes across the table at O'Malley's. The way he so often stopped in the middle of a conversation and stared off into space, a grey cast to his skin. The doubt clouding Daniel's usually bright, always curious eyes.

“Yes, sir,” was all that Jack could say.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Pain. Heat lightning scorched his nerves. Jerked his muscles into agonizing cramps. Something else traveled with the pain. With the hazy images of ha'taks. Of mines. Explosions. Something deeper. Darker.

“We're starting to get images from his suppressed memories.”

Faint voices fell like icy rain against his skin. Prickling. Stabbing. Gouging new rivers of torment. The grunts and groans slipped past lips bitten and sore.

“Dial it down.”

A thin shroud fell across Daniel's pain, easing the mind-splitting agony just enough for the other thoughts, the other feelings to rise to the surface.

“How ya feeling?”

Daniel blinked up at the sandy-haired man. “A little dizzy,” he panted. “A little tired.” He stared at the man, willing death through his gaze. “And very, very angry.”

The man smiled. He actually smiled. “Well that's because the flashbacks you're experiencing are dredging up some of the Goa'uld's emotions that may be coloring your conscious mind.” He tilted his head, considering Daniel's shivering, his sweat-soaked clothes, and the seismic read-out of the heart monitor they'd hooked up. “You know, this would go a lot faster if you'd just relax.”

Before Daniel could explode with all of the ways he was going to destroy this man when he got out of the restraints, he'd gestured to his pal and the shock of pain through the memory device hit him again.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Jack rushed into Sam's lab and gathered up his two teammates with a glance. “Up and at 'em campers!”

Teal'c whirled from his pacing to face him, but Sam got the words out first. “What's going on, sir?”

“Maybourne's come through for us. He sent over a list of possible NID safe houses. Hopefully Daniel is in one of them.” He raced down the hall towards the elevators, his team's running footsteps following him all the way to the briefing room where SG-3, 12, and 15 were waiting.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

The memories pressed forward. The cool feel of the Goa'uld hand device sliding against his hand, schematics of its internal circuitry flashing through his mind. He turned to face Jack, the colonel's mutterings filling him with spite, with arrogant dismissal. He flung out his hand, watching the burst of power slam into Jack's chest, propelling him against the concrete wall, the sound of breaking bones, of a crushed skull music to Daniel's ears.

No. No. He hadn't done it. It hadn't happened like that. Daniel tried to force his eyes open. Only a dream. A nightmare. Not real, not real.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Jack assessed his team, did the required radio checks, weapons' checks, made sure the local boys had enough intel to make good choices when they got into the warehouse. Ferretti was with SG-3 and another local squad, designated Team 2. Teams 3 through 5 were made up SG-12 and 15 and a few team members from various commands. Everybody wanted in on this, everybody wanted Daniel back, the geek who opened the Stargate, who always had time for anyone who needed his help, who let himself be traded to other teams again and again, whenever Hammond or Jack crooked his little finger. And they wouldn't mind putting some of the NID in the stockade – or in the ground – if they got the chance.

He led Teal'c to the corrugated metal doors, nodded to the airman to set the charge and then motioned to him to back away. The others spread out behind him, on the other side of the door, and around the back of the warehouse. He looked over at Carter, still positioned behind the truck, one hand to her earwig.

“Team 2, what is your status,” she insisted quietly.

They all heard the response through their radios. “Team 2 in position.”

Carter met Jack's eyes, steel and grit behind those blue orbs. “Team 3?”

“Team 3 is in position.”

Jack's gut clenched and he tightened his grip on the damned zat. A zat. Hammond had been insistent. Take as many as he could alive. He narrowed his eyes at the back-up team. They had real weapons – standard, no frills guns. Couldn't trust a guy without the right clearance with off-world weaponry. Jack hoped they were a trigger-happy bunch.

He steadied himself. A couple more seconds. Just a couple more seconds. “Hold on, Daniel,” he murmured. “We're coming for you.”

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Daniel gulped in air as the grip of the machine loosened, the vision of Moscow exploding, of Jack's gun, aimed at his head, dissolving. He'd almost blacked out. Half-way succeeded in putting himself beyond the pain, beyond the relentless battering. He panted, ignoring the tingling in his arms and legs as his captor leaned over him again.

“Know what I think the problem is?”

“That I can't shoot you?” Daniel gasped.

The Tok'ra's assistant seemed to find that funny. “That you're fighting the process,” he said, chuckling. “In the end all you're really doing is delaying the inevitable. Why don't we try to keep an … open mind.” He nodded to the man at the controls.

Daniel arched off the bed, writhing. They were coming for him. Vidrine. Jack. Sam. The SGC. The military. They'd find him. Kill him for what he'd done.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Carter moved into position right behind Jack. His SIC. Armed to the teeth and ready to tear apart anyone who stood between her and her teammate. This was the Carter SG-1 needed. “All five teams are in position, sir.”

Jack grimaced, nodding. The detonator in one hand, he flicked the cover button up, did an internal three count and then pressed the switch. The door jolted and a small cloud of smoke accompanied the tinny bang.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

“What was that? Turn it down.”

Daniel fell back onto the bed, trying to focus, to figure out what was happening. Both men seemed to be listening, waiting for something.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

“Go – go – go! All teams go!” Jack shouted, rushing into the warehouse with the others.

It was completely empty.

He could feel his back teeth nearly crack under the pressure of his jaw. “Damn it.”

Teal'c prowled the periphery, his own white-knuckled grip on his zat revealing his frustration. “Perhaps the other teams will have better luck, O'Neill.”

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Daniel heard the gunfire. The crack of rifles. The telltale sound of zats. Who was it? Who was coming? Was it Vidrine? The Goa'uld? He peered around, restless, as the sounds grew – shouts, metal crashing.

The sandy-haired man ordered the other one to the door as he started forward. He unbuckled Daniel's ankle restraints, hurrying. “Got to get you to a more secure location,” he muttered.

The blue whipcord flash of zat fire enveloped the man at the door and Daniel twisted, one arm loose from his restraints. His captor rushed back to his machine as a black-uniformed man stepped into the doorway.

“Hold it!”

“No!” Daniel shouted as the man raised his zat.

Too late. “Aaagh!” Daniel's vision erupted, a bright blue curtain falling across his eyes, nerves and muscles screaming as the man's zat blast encompassed the sandy-haired man and, through his out-flung hand, the machine before him. Straight into Daniel's skull.

Gun shots. Fire. Blazing eyes of gold. Jack, shooting at him. General Vidrine threatening. Sam screaming accusations. Teal'c dead.

The pain stopped.

“It's okay, Doctor Jackson. We're here to help.”

Who? What? A man stood at his elbow and then he fell, two bright red spots on his chest. Crashes and bangs. Voices calling for surrender. No. He – he couldn't let them take him. He couldn't –

He twisted away from the bed, pulled off the wires, the things stuck to his chest, to his head. Two men – two men were dead. Lying on the floor. He had to get away. He crouched at the door, watched men and women fall on each side of the battle. Who were the good guys? Or, were they all just different degrees of bad? Which side was he on? He shook his head, trying to clear the grey wool from his thoughts. Something, some voice or conscience told him to duck. To run. Showed him the path to take. He moved. Ran. Dodged. He saw the glass door and covered his head with his arms as he threw himself through it backwards. Pain twisted up from his back, clutched at his gut as he got his feet underneath him.

Two more black figures crouched beside an open doorway. He didn't stop. Didn't wait. He ran. Away from the gunfire. Away from the blood and death. As he crossed the street a huge explosion flung him forward and he barely caught himself against a lamp post.

No. No. They were gone. The two men. Burning. Burning. Images tried to crawl out of his memory. The stench of dried blood. The feel of a gun in his hand. He turned and ran.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware: Dodgy Italian translation alert!

Pt 3

“Four out of the five safe houses were empty, sir. Only one, it turned out, was still in play and that was SG-15's.” Carter took a breath and continued, her chin sitting a little higher. “We lost them and three members of the local team. One NID operative survived with minor injuries. He confirmed that the place was rigged to blow in the event it was stormed. He also confirmed that Daniel was being held at that location.” She looked at Jack, her eyes stormy with grief and guilt and anger.

Jack's probably looked worse. Hands clenched together on the table in front of him, he lifted his head. “But it's possible they moved him before the place was raided.”

Carter hated him. Hated that he was making her say it. He saw that through her hard-won military discipline. “Unlikely, sir. They wouldn't have had the time. Besides, the man we caught claims he saw Daniel making a run for it.”

“So DanielJackson could have escaped his captors on his own.” Teal'c looked the very measure of calm, controlled Jaffa, but Jack could see the muscle jumping in his jaw from across the briefing room table.

Hammond took it all in, the haphazard pile of folders and reports lying in front of him the only obvious sign of his distress. “In that case, why has Doctor Jackson not yet attempted to contact us?”

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

It was cold. The sky was grey, like the swamp of meaningless images in his mind. He crossed his arms over his chest, the thin blue shirt doing nothing to keep out the chill. Chin tucked down, he squinted up and down the street. Could the others see? See his confusion? Were they easing away from him? He reached up to touch the sore spot on his temple, his fingers getting tangled up in the wire frames of glasses. He was so tired.

What was that? A smell. An aroma. He turned his head. He was walking beside a brick and glass building with burgundy awnings embroidered with the word “Solomon's” in swirling script. The door opened as he stumbled to a halt, releasing that smell. Warmth. Familiarity. He reached out quickly, not letting the door close. He wanted more of that smell. He stepped inside.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Jack didn't tap his fingers on the table. He didn't fidget or groan, complain about his knees or fuss with the pocket of his BDUs. Jack sat, silent and guarded, watching the bruised and stitched man across from him. Slight build. Sandy hair. The NID operative was attempting to match Jack's studied calm with his own attempt at complacency. Too bad he couldn't keep up the act with his eyes.

The guy's gaze darted around. From Jack to Teal'c, standing just over Jack's right shoulder, and up to the observation window where Carter sat at the recording equipment. He didn't quite twist in his chair to keep the SF standing behind him in sight, but Jack could tell he wanted to. This guy was scared – and it was Jack's job to convince him that he and the SGC were way scarier than any thugs or politicians he was currently working with.

“So,” Jack began, “what did you want with him? What exactly was going on in that warehouse?”

“Look I already told you. I can't say! It's not that I don't want to help you, it's that right now I'm more concerned for my well-being.” He sat back in his chair, greasy smile slipping and sliding around his face.

“We can protect you.”

The guy's control went out the window. “No you can't!”

Jack lowered his chin and stared. He knew his eyes were in shadow, that the dark gleam of his anger would be all the guy could see. He waited. Waited some more. “Okay.” He stood up abruptly and turned, nodding up to Carter, watching her stand and walk out of sight. Jack stopped as he fell in beside Teal'c. “He's all yours.”

Behind him, the prisoner's feet scuffed against the floor. “Wait! Where are you going?”

Jack slid his key card through the slot and paused in the doorway. “Oh, I'll be out here. In the hall. Just yell – loudly – if you need me.” He gave the prisoner a little wave as the door slid closed.

There was nothing quite as scary as a pissed-off Jaffa with a stellar command of the English language.

Jack leaned against the door and flipped up the cover of his watch as Carter came down the hallway towards him. He tilted his head, watching her. Last week, she would have stood too close. Smiled up at him through her eyelashes. Now, well, it looked like Jack wasn't the only one who'd had an epiphany.

She faced him, rigid with tension. “A vital member of this facility gets kidnapped unchallenged. It's no wonder he doesn't think we can protect him.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “We can protect him."

“Yes, by locking him away for the rest of his life.” She shoved her hands into her pockets, half-turning away to lean back against the door.

“What can you say? There's a downside to working for the bad guys.” There would be. Jack – and Teal'c – would see to that no matter what kind of intel this guy was going to cough up.

Carter cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable. “This may take a while, do you want to get something to eat?”

What the hell? Were they back to this again? Jack shifted his weight, ready to come down on his second in command, his teammate, like a ton of bricks when he realized she wasn't even looking at him.

“Teammates eat, sir,” she added, her tone as even as a plumb line.

“Ack, Carter.” He slapped his hands against his eyes and rubbed his face. Hard. “Yes, they do. Teammates. That's good with you, right?”

She finally turned, looking a little closed-off but a lot relieved. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.”

“Okay. Good. Okay.” Jack let his hands fall to his sides. “But, no. What I want is Daniel -”

The door beside them slid open, nearly toppling them both.

“T?” Jack peered around the Jaffa's shoulders to take a look at their prisoner. Their sweating, shivering, mumbling prisoner.

Teal'c, his face as bland as warm milk, clasped his hands behind his back. “He was surprisingly forthcoming.”

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

He'd read every sign. Twice. Peered at the labels of the wine bottles standing on the counter to his right. Names. Dates. Varietals. Prices. He understood it, he knew that the beans they'd ground for his coffee were from the mountains of Colombia. That the red wine the waitress served to the couple at the round table in the corner was a mid-range Tempranillo from the Ribera del Duero region. He understood what the people said – the server, the patrons, the woman and child who had come in for one cup, to go, speaking perfect English to the server while she admonished her daughter to zip up her coat in Vietnamese. 

How could he know all this and not have a clue about himself?

In the men's room he'd checked his clothes. Jeans, pockets empty. Short boots that looked well-worn and felt like a second skin. A button-down shirt, blue, sleeves rolled up past the elbow. He'd turned them down, trying to smooth the hopelessly wrinkled fabric against his skin. The sleeves offered little warmth, but at least they covered up the gouge in the crook of his elbow matted with dried blood and the raw, red skin around his wrists. He'd splashed cold water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror, willing some spark of recognition, some sudden rush of knowledge. Blue eyes. Glasses. Brown hair. His front tooth had a tiny chip in it. On his right temple, a small round bruise was forming.

That was it. No ID. No money. No phone. Not even a helpful tag in the collar of his shirt that spelled out his name with the admonishment to 'return this child to …'. An image of a wide lake, red and blue canoes racing towards a distant flag stunned him, rapid-fire pictures of kids, duffels in a pile, teenagers with clipboards, a thick book clutched to his chest as he followed a line of boys to a cabin. The lake changed – cold and grey under a lowering sky – his hands bound in thick coils of rope – fear gripped him as a snake-like thing leaped for him, caught in a knobby hand.

Head hanging over the sink, he panted, shaking from the emotions wrenched to the surface by the scenes. Memories. No, he shook his head. They couldn't be memories. Could they? Real people didn't have memories like these.

The waitress – Patrice – refilled his cup, dragging him back from those strange memories. He fidgeted with the half-eaten chocolate chip muffin on the plate in front of him. His eyebrows rising as she set down a bill.

“Whenever you're ready.”

He frowned down at the slip of paper. Eight dollars and twelve cents. It seemed reasonable. He should leave a good tip. He set his hands in his lap, careful not to telegraph his movements. He knew he couldn't pay it. What he didn't know was what he was going to do now.

The patron on the stool one over on the left slid back his chair, the harsh sound dragging at his attention. The slim black man had guzzled cheap coffee loaded with sugar and creamer as fast as he could, clearly on a schedule, as he checked his phone. The man was reaching into his back pocket to pull out some bills, obviously intending to leave. He swept back the edge of his leather jacket, revealing a gold badge attached to his belt, and, behind that a gun. A gun in a holster.

_Gunfire. Blue arcing current. Pain. Tight bands around his wrists and ankles. Glowing eyes._

He swiveled away from the man with the gun, beginning to stand. To get away. Maybe he could head back towards the bathrooms. The door was right there, right beside an open doorway leading back into the shop. Both hands on the counter, he weighed his chances.

“Dove la idiota! Lei sara la mia morte!” [Where is the idiot? She is going to be the death of me!]

A tall man, thick dark hair lying in waves against his skull rushed through the open doorway, hurrying behind the bar. He stooped, searching for something beneath the counter and the popped back up, frowning. He looked upset. Emotional.

Caught flat-footed between running and staying, he couldn't help the words that came automatically to his lips. “Mi dispiace. Posso aiutarti?” [I'm sorry. Can I help?”]

The man raised both hands in the air as if thanking heaven, his problems cast aside as he grinned. “Un amico! Di dovo sei? Sembri il mio vicino!” [A friend! Where are you from? You sound like my next door neighbor!]

Where is he from? It was a simple question. A question he must have answered a million times before. But when he reached for the answer he found … nothing. No hint of a name. A home. Home. An image of books, shelves and shelves of books sprang up in his mind's eye. “Ah, lo sai Universita?” [Ah, do you know the university?”]

“Di Bologna? Si, si! Ovviamente! Si guarda come un professore.” [Of Bologna? Of course! You look like a professor!] The man hurried around the end of the bar to approach him. “Non credo che ti ho visto qui prima. Sono Solomon. Il proprietario.” [I don't think I've seen you in here before. I'm Solomon. The owner.] He stuck out his hand.

“Ovviamente.” [Of course.] He took Solomon's hand and smiled. “E un posto bellissimo.” [Well, it's a beautiful spot.]

“Gracie. Gracie. Come ti piace il caffe?” [Thank you. How did you like the coffee?]

He adjusted his glasses, trying not to edge away, to get some distance between himself and the overly friendly man. “Meraviglioso! Alcuni dei migliori che abbai avuto.” [Great. Some of the best I've ever had.]

Solomon tilted his head, his smiles and exuberance vanishing in an instant. “Good enough to pay for, then?”

He stepped back and then grabbed at the stool behind him to keep from stumbling. He swallowed, wanting to run, to smile and laugh off the man's question. Looking into the man's solemn brown eyes, he was caught, tangled up with need and fear and hope. “I'm sorry," he finally blurted out. "I didn't intend to cheat you. I just – honestly?” He looked around. “I'm a little confused. And I seem to have lost my wallet. My ID.”

“Okay.” Solomon looked him up and down. “You seem like a, well, you speak Italian like a native, that much I know. Can I trust you to come back and settle your bill?”

Could he? Anger swept through him, leaving his skin tingling painfully. How dare this man question him? The arrogant rage rushed away just as quickly. He took a quick breath and then crossed his arms over his chest. “Ah, truthfully? I don't know.”

Solomon's eyebrows rose. “What do you mean you don't know?”

Honesty seemed like the best – the only policy at the moment. “I mean I don't remember. I have no idea who I am much less what I'm capable of. All I know is that, about an hour ago I was walking down that street, lost, and when I smelled your coffee I headed right in before I'd even realized what I was doing.”

Solomon snorted. “Is this some kind of joke?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed. This man hadn't tried to hurt him. He didn't seem like a threat. And, at some point, he was going to have to try to trust somebody. He opened his eyes. “I have absolutely no memory of my life prior to walking in here.”

The ambient sounds of the wine bar and coffee shop went on around them as Solomon considered. Servers wiped off tables. Patrons murmured together in twos and threes. Solomon pursed his lips and seemed to come to a conclusion. “If that's true, we need to get you to a hospital.” Solomon reached out and took his wrist, turning it to examine the thick red welt just visible beneath the cuff of his shirt.

_Restraints. Electronic leads against his chest. Pain. Bright, blazing pain._

Daniel pulled away. “No hospitals!”

“Calm down.” Solomon took him gently by the shoulders, steadying him.

Behind him, the man with the gun stood up and stepped closer. “Hey, everything okay here, Sol?”

“Everything's fine. Just fine. Patrice, give Detective Ryan a to-go cup. On the house.”

Held within Solomon's grasp, he leaned forward. Desperate. He had to run. “Let me go. Please.”

Solomon's brown eyes grew soft, his voice pitched so that just the two of them could hear. “Go where? Do you have anywhere to go? A home? A family?”

No. Somehow, he knew the answer was no. The emptiness inside told him that much. It didn't matter. He couldn't stay. He had to – had to - “I don't know. I will pay you back. I promise.”

Solomon shook his head, clucking his tongue. His hands held on harder, just for a moment, almost as if they could press him into some familiar shape. “Maybe I can do something to help you.”

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Jack knocked on the frame of Hammond's door. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Hammond looked calm. The picture of the man in charge that everyone could count on. But Jack had seen the general under every kind of weird-ass, life-changing threat to come through the 'gate and he could see the waves of unease beneath that calm. Rigid, pale, Hammond folded his hands on his desk and gestured Jack into his office with a jerk of his chin.

"I just received some unsettling news from Jacob Carter."

Jack's control on his own emotions promptly fled. "It's about damned time. Where the hell has he been?" He stepped into the general's office like he was storming the beaches and loomed over the man's desk.

"Jacob dialed in and sent through a message fifteen minutes ago. Apparently, there has been some," he paused, chewing over his words until he found the one he wanted, "in-fighting among the Tok'ra concerning Shifu's visit to the SGC."

Jack frowned. He so didn't care. Not when they were trying to find Daniel. Not when every ounce of energy and every connection Jack had was being spent on his missing teammate. Not when that pasty-faced moron in a holding cell had told them he and his NID buddy had been assigned to help a Tok'ra dig through Daniel's memories for any and all of the crap Shifu had shifted his way. Jack hated them. Every single one of them. Once, Jacob Carter would have been the singular exception. That time was rapidly coming to an end.

"In-fighting among the Tok'ra. Well, who the hell could have seen that coming?"

Hammond lifted his head, the slow burn of his anger very near the surface. "Watch yourself, Colonel O'Neill. Your anger is misplaced. Looming over this desk and taking your frustration out on me will only land you in a holding cell while your team attempts to find this Tok'ra without you."

Jack clenched his fists and deliberately turned away. He faced the glass wall, the pattern of planets connected to the Stargate network painted there, and he could only think of Daniel. Of the guy who had slumped into Cheyenne Mountain, grabbed an eraser, and changed the world. Of the broken man curled in on himself in a dark hallway with nowhere to go. Of the emptiness in his eyes as he watched his wife walk through the Stargate on Abydos at Apophis' side after he'd delivered her child. When she fell next to him, dead, at peace. And now this. This 'teaching' Shifu had forced on him. More darkness. More evil. More slimy fingers reaching out to grab and tear at his soul. 

He wanted to pick up the chair and hurl it through the window. To crush the glass under his boots. To let go and tear the freaking world apart until he found his friend. And then, to sit him down, get him extravagantly drunk, and convince him that none of it – none of the spewing filth of the galaxy – could possibly change him. Taint him. Turn him from the eager, hopeful, forgiving man into the kind of monster the Goa'uld – and the damned Tok'ra – hid within them. Not while Jack O'Neill was around.

The hand on his shoulder stifled his shout. The stalwart strength of the man at his side drew off the top layer of his rage. Jack opened his shaking hands and let his eyes focus farther than the glass window. On the briefing room. On Teal'c and Carter who had come up the steps and were now facing him across the distance, fear and dread and sorrow holding them in place.

God knew what they saw when they witnessed the meltdown of their CO. Jack straightened his spine. Lifted his chin. Manufactured a half-smile and a head shake. He watched the two of them react, each in their own way. Teal'c, calm mask back in place, his relief revealed in the quick blink of wet eyes. Carter put both hands over her face as if to scrub off her fear and then dropped them, eyes nearly feverish with resolve.

"Your team needs you, Jack. It needs you focused and controlled. Daniel needs you."

"Yes, sir," Jack answered. He fought it down. Fought it all down. Stomped and punched it all flat into that overflowing metal cage in his soul. Its seams were bursting, heaving, but, by God, he'd keep it all chained up. Until he needed it. Until he had that bastard Aldwin face to face. He took a step back and faced the general. "So, Jacob?"

Hammond read Jack's face like a sign-board. "He'll be here in two hours. They've been busy rooting out Aldwin's conspirators and interrogating them since they heard from us. Hopefully, he'll have some answers – and something we can use to find Doctor Jackson – by the time he comes through."

Carter and Teal'c had arrived in the doorway by the end of Hammond's speech. 

"This should not have been a surprise, General Hammond." Teal'c kept his eyes fixed on Jack's. "Colonel Makepeace was a member of the original teams sent to contact the Tok'ra. Even then, there was a spy among us both, Tau'ri and Tok'ra." He deliberately put both hands behind his back as if he'd love to use them for something else. "Nothing has changed."

Carter tilted her head in agreement. "Makepeace could have made enough contacts while still a member of the SGC to give the NID a few allies among the Tok'ra. In fact, that would make a lot of sense, it helps explain how the NID got so much access to advanced technology, sir. If they had someone more advanced assisting them."

Yeah. It made sense. Aldwin had been all too eager to leave them behind on Sokar's prison planet. The NID had way too many high-tech toys to believe they stumbled over them, or had any idea how to use them once they got a hold of them. Having a pet Goa'uld – Tok'ra – whatever, would have helped out a lot.

Maybourne may be getting an uncomfortable visit sooner rather than later.

"Major Carter, any word on your search?"

Jack snapped out of his violent daydream, eyes narrowing. 

"Not yet, sir. I've heard back from most of the hospitals around the area of the warehouse to see if anyone matching Daniel's description had come in. If he'd been injured he might not have been able to contact us." Carter shook her head. "Nothing yet."

Hammond huffed out a breath, catching Jack's eyes. “I spoke with the ME's office. They're doing DNA testing on the remains recovered at the blast site. But it's going to take a while.”

Jack's gut roiled, his fingers tapping against the seams of his trousers. Ants crawled up and down his spine. No. Daniel wasn't dead. They wouldn't find his DNA, not much off it, anyway. Even if they did – even if Daniel had lost a small piece off himself in that warehouse, he wasn't dead. It never stuck before. It wouldn't now.

Jack settled back against Hammond's desk, his eyes focused somewhere past Hammond, past Carter and Teal'c. “You know, when Daniel first didn't answer his phone, didn't call back or answer his door, I wondered if he was just avoiding me. Us.”

The others watched and listened.

“Things haven't been too rosy with SG-1 lately, sir. And that's my fault. Mostly." Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Carter's mouth tighten, as if she was about to say something. He steamrolled her. "More than mostly. My team. My lead.”

Hammond didn't seem all that surprised. “And what do you intend to do about it, Colonel?”

This time, Jack had an answer for Hammond. For all of them. He met their eyes, one by one. “Get him back, sir. You see, I believe in Daniel. I may not always show it, but I do. And I always will. I believe he's the best thing that could have happened to the SGC. That he's right way more often than I'd like. I believed in him when Nem tried to convince us he was dead. When that crystal skull took him away. And even when I had doubts, like in Alar's underground bunker, or when that Unas grabbed him up, or when he took his life in his hands and volunteered to meet up with Lotan, I should have. Should have known that Daniel would come out all right." Jack took a deep breath. "I'm not going to stop believing in him now.” He stared into Hammond's steady blue gaze. "And I intend to tell him that when we find him.”

“I agree, Jack.” Hammond moved behind his desk. "We've got two hours until Jacob Carter gets here. Let's have some answers for him, along with our questions." He nodded. "Let's get our man back."

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG 

 

Arawn turned as the human entered the small apartment. Small in human terms, but much larger than the plain cell Aldwin accepted as his due from his Tok'ra leaders. He ran one hand over the soft skin that covered the wide couch he was seated on, let his gaze touch on the other evidence of luxury. A separate sleeping room, the bed covered with thick mattresses and warm blankets. A room for bathing, a deep tub for soaking, for reveling, not just for the quick, necessary cleansing the human body required. One eyebrow rose. He could get used to this. In fact, he intended to become very used to this.

He watched the man hurry towards him, his shoes making little noise against the carpeting. "What is it?"

“The DNA results are in. They've been able to identify twelve victims of the warehouse explosion. None of them are Doctor Jackson. My guess is that there wasn't enough left to get a match.”

Arawn lifted the steaming cup to his lips. Coffee. He did not understand why Selmac hated the concoction. He set the cup on the table before him. “Or," he suggested to the foolish human, "he didn't die in that explosion.”

The dark-haired man smirked. “If Jackson had survived he would have gone straight back to Stargate Command. They wouldn't still be looking for him.”

Eyes flashing, Arawn rose from his seat, allowing a thin smile to linger on his lips, unsettling the man before him. The human conspirator. Humans. So convinced of their own cleverness. Eons ago, Ra had found them good meat for their kind. Fleshy mannequins with bodies that could take punishment and be healed of it time and time again. Even great Egeria had found the stunted, animalistic race the perfect vessel for her consciousness as the creatures barely possessed any thoughts of their own. Without her help, they would never have succeeded in routing Ra. In troubling the great Goa'uld just enough that he would leave this planet to them. To their ape-like descendants. Like this one. Cocky. Confidant. And, without a symbiote, so easy to damage. To kill. “I know," Arawn whispered. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps Daniel Jackson is dead." He moved closer to the man, slowly reducing the space between them, forcing the human back a step – two – until he stumbled against the skin-covered chair. Standing over the human, eyes flashing, Arawn stared down at him. "But until we have confirmation, until you bring me proof of the human's death. I want you to keep looking for him. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good." Conversation finished, Arawn moved to the wide window that overlooked the human city. Poor, primitive, barely functioning. These 'agents' were no better than the SGC. No matter the promises of their leaders, the humans were incompetent lackeys, requiring a firm guiding hand if not a barbed goad to get them to obey. They were beneath him, beneath all Tok'ra, and it was time they were reminded of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Pt 4

 

Two Weeks Later

Dan. Dan. He traced the embroidered white letters on his black fitted shirt with one finger. It might be his name. Or maybe a friend's name. A brother's. Father's. Son's. He shrugged. All he knew was, the day after he'd stumbled into Solomon's, a patron had called out "Dan!" and he found himself standing and turning around. Solomon had been all over it.

"Amico mio, is that your name? Are you Dan? Daniele? Dante?" None of them fit, not quite, but from then on, he'd been Dan and there was nothing he could do about it.

He tucked the shirt into his black jeans, folded the black apron over and tied it around his waist. Checking himself in the mirror over the sink in the employee break room, he took a deep breath. "Hello, I'm Dan. Hi, my name is Dan." It itched. Scratched at his mind like a sweater that didn't quite fit. Almost. Not quite. Oh, well. They couldn't just keep calling him, 'hey, you.'

The problem was, he felt like that name had caught him, trapped him in this halfway existence. Tied him to a past he didn't know and, maybe, probably, didn't want.

The flashbacks came more frequently. Asleep or awake, while he was taking an order or opening a crate of coffee beans in the storeroom, the images would rip open his psyche and leave him breathless and trembling. Faces turned towards him with fear or anger or frustration. Violence. Weapons in his hands that felt like an extension of his will. People dying.

And then there were the others. Shadowy figures walking away. A beautiful woman with glowing eyes, growling curses. Lying dead at his side. Sorrow. Loss. A solemn-faced child leaving him.

What kind of life was this? The images were filled with pain, with grief and fear and arrogant anger. With words that stabbed and beat at those around him. Whatever kind of man he'd been, whatever reason those unclear figures had for leaving him, for walking away, shoving him back, telling him to 'shut up,' he must have deserved it. 

Dan stuck his order pad into the back of his apron and turned away from the mirror. He should leave. Take off. Walk away from this city, from his past, and the guilt and pain that followed him like a greasy black cloud.

"Dan? Come on, my friend, the ladies keep asking me where their favorite server has gone." Solomon strode towards him, confident grin on his face. "I've told you, just relax and accept their devotion."

_Blue-white heat seared along his skin, jerking his arms and legs against the restraints. "Just relax … open your mind …" A man loomed over him, smiling, laughing at his pain, at his helplessness._

"Dan. Dan, are you all right?" Solomon wrapped one hand around the back his neck, holding on until Dan could get his balance. "Is it the visions again? I told you you should go get yourself checked out."

“No. No.” Dan wrapped his right hand around his left wrist. The red mark was fading, but memories of being tied down, of angry men, some kind of medical equipment attached to his skin, filled him with dread. He snatched off his glasses and pinched his nose. “What am I doing, Sol? Working here, sleeping upstairs in the office, watching the Discovery Channel. I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I've got to tell you, I'm thinking about leaving.”

Solomon frowned, puffing out his chest. “So. Where will you go?”

He sighed. “I don't know. But, this isn't my life. It doesn't feel right.”

“My friend.” Solomon squeezed Dan's neck and then let his hand fall away. “Trust me. Running away is not going to make anything better for you. Working here, serving my customers may not feel right, but at least you have a roof over your head and some friends who care about you.”

"And I'm grateful. I really am." Dan shook his head. "But, I can't – it's not getting better. Am I just supposed to wait? To hope that someday something clicks and suddenly I know? And, what then?" He raised his hands as if asking the universe for answers. "What if I don't like the man I was? What if he wasn't a good man? What then?"

“Oh, amico mio. Trust me. You were – you are – a good man. Do you remember the first thing you said to me? You didn't ask me for money, or try to trick me or tell me lies. You asked if you could help me. That's the kind of man you are."

Dan turned away. "You don't know that."

Solomon's rich, deep laughter made him turn back.

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know." Solomon put both hands together in front of his chest in mock prayer. "It may not feel like your life right now, but, please, my friend, give it some time. Per favore. Please.”

He closed his eyes. He wanted to go. To run. To forget whatever had stolen his memories and start all over again. Sighing, Dan opened his eyes. He knew he wasn't going anywhere. “All right.”

“Good, because I believe table six is impatient to order some very expensive wine.”

"Okay." He hustled out into the wine bar, swallowing back the bitter emptiness. For now, he told himself. For now, he'd try to repay Solomon for his friendship. His trust. Hands behind his back, he approached the table of four, erasing all signs of impatience from his face as he realized he'd seen the platinum blonde before.

"Hello and welcome to Solomon's. My name is Dan. Have you had a chance to look over today's selections? Solomon is focusing on wines of the Italian piedmont tonight, his favorite region," he smiled in the usual place during this often-repeated spiel. "Or, if you're more in the mood for coffee, I'd suggest the Blue Mountain from Jamaica, or, if you're more patriotically minded, the Molokai Coffee from Hawaii just came in fresh this morning."

The older man in the tweed jacket – clearly in charge of his table-mates – barely glanced at the menu board Dan had meticulously lettered earlier in the day. "Four glasses of the Barolo," he said, nose high enough in the air to threaten low-flying aircraft.

"Very good," the aproned server nodded, hands behind his back. "I can recommend the charcuterie board if you'd like a bite to eat."

"Oh, yes, Allan, let's have that," the highlighted blonde smiled up into Dan's eyes. "Whatever you recommend, Dan," she leaned forward to read his nametag, coincidentally showing off her upper assets to everyone at the table, "sounds fine to me."

Dan adjusted his glasses, uncomfortable at the woman's obvious flirtation. "Great. I'll be right back."

On his way to the gleaming high-topped service bar, Dan caught a flash of light from the corner of his eye. There. On the sidewalk outside the pick-up door. Two young men – barely twenty if he had to guess – were whispering together just beyond Solomon's diffused outdoor lighting.

Solomon looked up, the banging of his side door loud even back here in the stock room. He heard yelling, orders barked in a voice he'd come to recognize. "Dan? What –" He hurried out into the wine bar and took in the frightened customers, the women clutching each other as they stared out into the night. He turned just in time to see Dan holding a gun in both hands aimed towards two young men, one with blood streaming down his face.

Outside, he followed Dan's instructions, kicked the gun towards the wall. He watched the quiet, peaceful man he'd come to care about like a younger brother take charge of the situation. He dialed 911. He kept calm.

But, when he heard the sirens coming, when he saw the set of Dan's jaw and the unwavering stare of those usually kind blue eyes, he couldn't help himself. "Dan – cos'hai fatto?”

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Jacob had barely acknowledged his daughter. Shaken Hammond's hand. Nodded in Jack and Teal'c's direction. A leather bag slung over one shoulder, he nearly outpaced the general on the way to the briefing room, tension and anger like a cloud of steam following him. That was okay with Jack. Get the hell down to business. Find Daniel. Find the Tok'ra. Kill the bastard.

Jacob had come to the SGC two weeks ago with promises and not much else. The usual Tok'ra run around, the High Council's useless assurances, and absolutely no real help. The NID claimed there was a Tok'ra on Earth and still the arrogant snake-heads looked down their noses and dragged their collective feet.

Looked like Jacob was done screwing around.

"So, Aldwin, huh? Little obsequious guy who always pretended to be some kind of diplomat? And no one ever suspected that he had made the wrong friends and decided betraying us was a better idea than working with us?"

"No." Jacob had barely sat down, digging in his bag for something. His head snapped up, doubled voice telling them all that this was Selmac talking. "It was not Aldwin. That much is finally clear."

The anger behind Hammond's eyes made them narrower and colder than ever. "Explain. The information you gave me was that –"

Selmac had one hand up. "Not Aldwin. Arawn. Aldwin's symbiote."

Jack threw himself backwards in his chair. "Nice. So all this talk about the Tok'ra being a perfect blending, a real partnership between human and symbiote was a crock of shit all the time. Well, color me surprised."

"It is not perfect, Colonel. When dealing with extremely strong personalities, it does not require a symbiote to take over the thinking of a weaker man. Humans have been doing it for thousands of years without the intervention of Goa'uld or Tok'ra." Selmac drilled Jack with his stare. "Or have you never heard that a man will take advantage of his followers, those incapable of standing up for themselves? Shall I give you names from your history?"

"So you believe that Arawn overpowered Aldwin? That he is suppressing the human host?" Carter leaned forward, trying to get Selmac's attention.

"The Tok'ra High Council believes that Arawn has convinced Aldwin that this is the only way. And that Aldwin is allowing his symbiote to lead in this matter."

Teal'c wasn't the least bit intimidated by the Tok'ra's posturing. "What evidence do you have for this belief?"

"The evidence of Aldwin's report on the boy Shifu." Selmac slapped a squat device onto the table and pressed a button on one side. "Once we found that Aldwin and Arawn could not be located at the remote outpost he had been sent to after his time here, Persus instructed us to look over all of his reports." 

Above the table, a hologram appeared, Aldwin's figure frozen there, frowning. "We also examined Arawn's past. He and Aldwin had only been blended for two years, since right before your mission to Sokar's prison planet to rescue Jacob." Selmac bowed his head and Jacob Carter blinked up at them. "Sorry, guys, Sam, but this whole situation has us all a little off-balance."

"'Off-balance?'" Jack pressed his hands down flat on the table before him, ready to launch himself across at Carter's dad and his friendly parasite.

"Colonel." 

Hammond's word caught him mid-motion. "Sir?"

"Let's allow Jacob to continue. For the moment." Hammond folded his hands and bent his attention to the Tok'ra.

"Just – watch this." Jacob touched another control, fast-forwarding through Aldwin's report, the figure in the projection pacing back and forth, his jerky movements intensified by the speed. "Now." Jacob stopped the recording and flicked the switch again. "Watch."

"The boy – Shifu – rose into the air, tendrils of light reaching out from his body. He simply flowed through the SGC as if it was water, heading towards the Stargate. There was nothing we could do – no weapon we could have used to stop him." Aldwin shook his head and his voice doubled. "Even if I could have done something to stop him, the fools at the SGC would only look on with their mouths open. General Hammond, Colonel O'Neill, even Teal'c refused to do a thing to keep the being in check, to demand the answers I knew he had."

In an instant, Aldwin was clearly talking again. "Yes, they all said that they believed him. Believed that he was in fact the harcesis, the keeper of the Goa'uld genetic memory. We should have brought him back here, to be interrogated, to have his knowledge sifted and recorded! Imagine how we could have used this knowledge to defeat our enemies! To strengthen our own weapons and to protect our people!"

"I did nothing to overrule Aldwin's inaction. I recovered myself too late, too late to step forward." The symbiote was back. "I blame myself for my weakness."

"No, it was my fault. I should have stepped down and let you –"

"It will not happen again."

"No. Not again. Never again." Aldwin shook his head, anguish dragging his features into a grimace. 

"They seem to be speaking to one another rather than giving a report on the situation," Hammond noted, frowning at the projection.

"Indeed." Teal'c tilted his head. "Is this the evidence you bring to support your theory, JacobCarter? That Aldwin has been taken over by his symbiote?"

"This and the bodies of our colleagues found at the remote outpost when Arawn overpowered them and escaped through the Stargate." Jacob rubbed one hand across his forehead. "Arawn used a hand device on them."

Carter sat up straight. "A hand device? I didn't know the Tok'ra had –"

"We don't." Jacob's eyes were tired. Every line in his body spoke of defeat. Of exhaustion and age. "We don't stockpile Goa'uld weapons. We have some zats. Some concussion grenades. Tacluchnatagamuntoron. Ring platforms. Various ships we've been able to steal. But not hand devices. They're more a weapon of torture than anything else. We don't use them. We don't even use staff weapons."

Jack tapped his finger on the table. "So where did it come from? And how the hell did Aldwin get to Earth?"

"Getting to Earth would take a high-level, well-connected series of contacts with access to both Stargates and ships. We're tracing it, but it could take a while." "As you should be." Selmac's voice accused. "Your NID has shown itself capable of hiding much from the SGC's eyes in the past."

Before Jack could reply, Jacob was sending a quelling glance across the table. "He's right. And you know it." He fiddled with the controls on the hologram projector until another image appeared. "As for the hand device, I'm guessing it came from the same place all these came from."

The metal walled chamber was filled with crates. Staff weapons were stacked in one corner. Short and long ranged communication devices spilled out onto the floor. Hand devices. Timing devices. Bombs. And a whole lot of stuff Jack couldn't identify.

"We found this hidden cache at our outpost. Arawn's connection to your NID is without question. There were recorded conversations. Lists of Stargate addresses where other stores were kept, out of the hands of both the Tok'ra and the SGC. We intercepted a few of his conspirators." Jacob just about spit out the word. "Other Tok'ra just as twisted as Arawn, their human partners either completely subverted or just too weak and unwilling to stand up to their symbiotes."

"Well, while all this is just fascinating, not to mention the kind of crap I totally expected from snakes, no matter what they called themselves," Jack erupted, pushing back from the table to loom over Jacob and his toy, "what the hell did you find out about Daniel and this son of a bitch's plans for him? Because, no offense," he added snidely, "cleaning up the ranks of the Tok'ra is so not on my agenda!"

"Colonel O'Neill!"

"No. General, with all due respect," Jack said, as sincerely as he could manage, "Daniel has been gone for three weeks. Three weeks. And sitting here getting all torqued off about 'Aaron' and his Tok'ra minions doesn't come any closer to getting him back."

"It actually does, Jack." Jacob pulled another device from his bag and laid it on the table. "I'm betting that your NID conspirators have one of these stockpiles here on Earth. And I've brought a way to detect the Goa'uld tech."

Carter pulled the Tok'ra device towards her, flipping open a panel to display a holographic screen. Head bent in concentration, she was already tapping buttons and figuring out the interface inside of sixty seconds.

"Well?"

Jack turned back to Jacob. "Well, what? You expect an apology? Or a thank you?"

Jacob pressed his lips together. "No, Jack. I don't expect either. I was hoping you'd let me stay and help hunt for Daniel. I care about him, too, you know. And High Councilor Persus is already tracing Arawn's movements from the other end. He made me promise to send his regards for Daniel. And his promise to do whatever it takes."

"Yeah, well," Jack murmured. He wanted to send Jacob/Selmac packing. Send the whole Tok'ra race through the wormhole to a distant black hole. Instead, he glanced at Teal'c. At Hammond. "Sir?"

"Let's accept all the help we can, Colonel. I want Doctor Jackson back here in one piece. And Aldwin or Arawn or whatever he calls himself, off this planet. One way or another."

Jack nodded. "Okay. Let's get started."

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Dan lingered in the police detective's doorway, hands in the pockets of the blue jacket Solomon had lent him. He did not want to be here, among men and women in uniforms, weapons strapped to their waists. He felt them watching him. Staring. There had already been questions he couldn't answer – there were bound to be more. Fists clenching in his pockets, Dan kept turning his head to look back into the large open bull pen. To check out the exits. Escape routes.

He couldn't stay here.

“Okay, let's start with your name.” Ryan sat at his cluttered desk, pulling a stack of papers in front of him.

“You know my name," Dan tried with a shrug. 

“So is Dan short for Daniel?”

“Okay.” The detective lifted his head from the paperwork, his eyes hard. “Ah, yes. Daniel.” Why not?

“And your last name?”

It wasn't that he hadn't tried to remember. He'd tried. Lying on Solomon's futon in the office over the wine bar, 'Dan' was as close as he'd come to some kind of identity. Heck, he could speak Italian, Spanish, and Vietnamese – he knew that from talking to customers. He must have a last name. Okay. He just had to come up with something. Something plausible enough to get him out of the detective's office and on his way. “O'Malley,” he blurted out. “Daniel O'Malley.”

“Huh. Funny, you don't look Irish. And I'm pretty sure I heard you tell Sol you were Italian. Wanna try again?”

“Look,” Dan sighed, “I haven't done anything wrong. I haven't hurt anyone, well, except for those two guys trying to rob our customers.”

Ryan stood, facing Dan across his desk. “Witnesses say you took them both down without breaking a sweat. How'd you manage that?”

“Instinct,” Dan answered truthfully. It had been automatic. Without conscious thought.

“No. I think it was training. Don't suppose you want to tell me where you learned those moves?”

Dan tightened his lips. If he only could.

“That's what I thought.” Ryan placed a black ink pad and a fingerprint sheet in front of him. “I guess we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way.”

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Jack had been watching Carter fiddle with the Tok'ra device for over an hour. Back and forth between her work bench, her computer, and Jacob, wires and connectors in her hands. She'd kept up a running commentary when she wasn't trading indecipherable techno-babble with her dad, figuring that Jack could keep up. Yeah, right.

He pushed himself off the wall he'd been holding up and stepped up to the table. "So it's the concentration of naquadah that we can detect with this thing?"

"That's right, Jack," Jacob replied, tapping away at the controls. "Taking into consideration what Arawn's allies and that man you have in holding told us, the stockpile here on Earth is liable to be big, but shielded, like the one we found on our outpost world. This device will break through that shield."

Teal'c, hovering around the edges just like Jack had been doing, put down the gizmo he'd been holding. "And you believe that the NID will be holding DanielJackson somewhere nearby their weaponry? Why?"

"Good question, T." Jack tapped his fingers on the metal table. "I mean Chatty Chester downstairs didn't say anything about weapons, and the NID agents the team came up against in the warehouse were using standard weapons – based on the shells they found in the wreckage."

Carter paused, her hands hovering over her keyboard. Narrowed blue eyes bored into Jack's. "You think this is a wild goose chase, sir?"

Jack growled deep in his throat and he flung up both hands. "I don't know Carter. I don't honestly know if finding Goa'uld technology is getting us any closer to Daniel. But I don't know that it won't either."

Jacob shifted on his stool. "And finding these weapons is a good cause in and of itself, isn't it?"

Teal'c was by Jack's side in a heartbeat, one large hand on his chest, holding him back.

"Hey," Jacob rose to his feet, obviously more than ready to face off with him, "quit trying to make me the bad guy here, Jack." He pointed to the device he'd brought. "We've got a lead. A lead I brought you. Just how well were you doing before I came, huh?"

"Why you son of –"

"Colonel. Jacob. I think you should see this right away."

Hammond hurried into the lab, a single sheet of paper in his hand.

“What is it?” Jack reached out and snagged the paper, turning it so that they all could see it.

Daniel's picture stared out from the page in grainy black and white. Across the top was written, 'Colorado Springs Police Request for Information.' "I'll be damned." 

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Arawn rose quickly as the door to his dwelling slammed back against the wall.

"You're going to want to see this, sir." The dark haired agent approached, a paper in his hand. A paper bearing the likeness of Daniel Jackson.

Arawn's eyes glowed.


	5. Chapter 5

Pt 5

Dan had settled into the chair in Detective Ryan's office as if it was a nest. A cocoon. The detective had taken his fingerprints. Taken his picture. Sent it out to agencies and departments all over the city – the country, probably. Someone was bound to recognize him. Any time now there'd be a call, or a visitor, who would come and press him into the mold of the person he used to be. Whoever that was.

It was time to focus. To dig deep. Up until now, Dan hadn't been sure about remembering. About dwelling on the flashes of memory his mind dredged up. He'd avoided them. Run from them. Eager to start a new life, with a new name, and new situations, he'd wanted to forget the pain, the anger, all of the negative emotions that raced through him whenever the fog over his mind lifted for a peek. Now, now he felt his opportunities for escape were gone. Ryan had sent off his information and someone was coming. Someone with more knowledge of his past than he had.

That had to change.

Unfortunately, his memories weren't much help. Scenes and faces without context, unbelievable landscapes, angry posturing, a gauze-wrapped body buried beneath desert sands, automatic weapons in his hands, cutting down enemy soldiers. He remembered a couple who might be his parents, who prompted strangely opposing feelings of comfort and sorrow. Other faces drifted past, barely touching him, men, women, old and young. A huge black man with a golden tattoo evoked bitter anger and grief. A blond woman sometimes felt like a sister, other times like an angry ex-lover spitting bile. Most recently, a silver-haired man starred in his nightmares. Smiling. Joking. Shouting. Condescending. Barking orders. Pointing a gun at him.

He forced himself to relive the last image – the most powerful one he could grab onto. Angry, aching with loss and betrayal, he stood across a strange podium from the grey-haired man, dark eyes boring straight into Dan's soul. The man grabbed at his hand, held it in a bruising grip, stopping Dan from – from something. Some action. The man's mouth moved, but his words were lost in an explosion – the beams around them shuddering, dust and dirt falling. Again and again he tried to hear what the man said, what he was trying to tell Dan. Again and again he failed.

Footsteps brought Dan's awareness back to the cold comfort of Ryan's office. 

“We got a call. Apparently some people are looking for you.”

Dan sat up, adrenaline rushing, his stomach churning. “Who?”

Ryan's eyebrows rose. “The United States Air Force. They're sending a Colonel O'Neill to pick you up.”

_An officer. Uniforms. A black man with stars on his shoulders, speaking from a huge television screen. "You've overstepped your bounds … sending a squad … take you into custody …" Restraints. Vicious, blinding shockwaves._

Panting, Dan stood. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” The detective perched one hip on the edge of his desk.

“I – I can't go with them.” They'd hurt him. Strap him down. Make him – make him tell them. Hands shaking, Dan turned towards the door to be stopped by Ryan's strong hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I can tell you're scared, but when people start throwing around words like 'National Security,' there's not a lot I can do.” His eyes were soft, undemanding. As if he really cared. Like Solomon.

Dan took a deep breath and decided, in an instant, that he had to tell him. Had to trust this man. If he hoped to get away before these military people came to get him, he needed this man's help.

"Okay, look. The reason I can't tell you who I am is because I don't know. I don't remember. I don't know who I am or where I'm from, I don't even know if Dan is my real name. My memory only goes back as far as that day three weeks ago when I came into Sol's for coffee I couldn't pay for. I don't remember any of my life before that. Except -”

“'Except?'” Ryan prompted.

Dan gritted his teeth. “I do have flashbacks. Terrifying, impossible flashbacks, like something out of a horror movie. They don't make much sense. I was hoping, with time, that my memory would come back, or something would help remind me of who I am. But, after tonight, after those two kids and that gun I'm not sure I want to remember.”

Ryan stared. Considering. His grip fell away from Dan's arm and the compassionate warmth in his eyes turned to cold disdain. “You know, Dan, it would be a lot easier if you'd just be honest with me.”

Dan closed his eyes, defeated. It was no wonder Ryan didn't believe him. The miracle had been that anyone had.

A sudden commotion outside Ryan's door made him open his eyes and take a step backwards. Greying hair. Uniform. But - Dan frowned. Not right. Not quite right.

The Air Force officer stared through him, blue eyes cold and calculating. He jerked his head towards a camouflage-dressed man and woman flanking him. The woman, thick and bulky, like a body builder. The man was taller. Thin. Familiar.

“I'm Colonel O'Neill, I'm here to take custody of the prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” Dan tried to pull back further, but the woman reached out and snagged his wrist, nearly crushing it. The tall man handed her a pair of handcuffs.

Ryan stepped forward. "You mind telling me what this is all about?”

O'Neill flipped open his credentials. “The government has been looking for Doctor Jackson for quite a while now.”

'Doctor Jackson?' He was a doctor? Confused, Dan could only stand there as the man and woman trapped him between them, closing the handcuffs tightly around his wrists. He couldn't escape. Couldn't move. "No. Ryan - Don't let them take me away.” 

The tall dark-haired man smiled down at him.

_He stood at a strange device. A computer. Something medical. Smiling, the dark-haired man lowered his hand to a control. Lightning flashed through Dan's nerves, his back arching off the cot. Pain. Anger. Gunshots._

They were tugging him forward into a stumbling walk. Pushing him away from Ryan. From safety. The grey-haired man shook the detective's hand.

“We appreciate your cooperation in this matter, sir.”

“No. No! This isn't right!” Dan yelled back over his shoulder. "Ryan! Don't do this!"

"Shut up," the woman snapped, her grip on his left arm bruising. "You're not going to like it if I have to restrain you further."

"I don't like it now," Dan muttered, trying, in vain, to put some distance between them. "What does the Air Force want with me?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised Doc. There are lots of people who are interested in finding you. Picking your brain," the dark-haired man replied. 

Harmless words, maybe, but they sounded like threats to Dan. "Doctor? I'm a doctor?"

O'Neill stopped as they got to the doors to the parking lot, taking hold of Dan's arm and gesturing towards the other two. "Check it out. Make sure our ally is where we left him."

The man and woman, one hand on the handguns hanging from their belts, carefully made their way into the parking lot.

"What is going on?" Dan demanded. "Do I know you?"

The officer barely glanced at him. "Don't try too hard, Doctor Jackson. You don't know me. You don't know any of us." He turned to spear Dan with a cold glare. "Pretty soon, you're not going to know anything."

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Jack pulled into the police station and put the car in park, the engine still running. The vibrations seemed to echo the tension in his body, the anticipation that raised Jack's awareness to a higher level. Pre-mission. Pre-battle. This was an S&R mission as surely as anything he'd ever walked through the Stargate for. He twisted his neck. He wished this was an S&R through the Stargate. Wished that Daniel had been kidnapped by a stinky Unas, or fish-faced Nem. Wished he was meeting Daniel's captors in his BDUs with a loaded P90, a couple of teams at his back, and a bad attitude. 

He eyed the passing civilians. Uniformed cops. The fizzing along his nerves ramped up. Any one of them could be NID. Or just Joe Innocent going about his business. Jack clenched his teeth. Snake-heads on Earth. Yeah, no.

Jack turned to spear his passenger with a commanding glare. "Stay here, Jacob. We don't need an alien invasion at the local PD on the six o'clock news in case Selmac decides to pipe up."

"Jack-"

"I mean it," he pointed one finger in the air. "I'm leaving the car on in case we need a quick get-away. Maybe you can keep the locals from towing us while you're at it."

Carter and Teal'c were already waiting for him on the sidewalk, Teal'c's black and gold beanie pulled low enough to cover the usual eye-brow raise at Jack's driving. And parking. 'Reserved for Captain Washburn.' Yeah, Captain Washburn could bite him.

"Okay, troops, nice and easy," he murmured as he led the way towards the glass and steel building. "We're just here to pick up Daniel." He smoothed his leather jacket down across his waist, checking his weapon. Carter adjusted her blazer, doing the same.

"It does not appear that you truly believe that, O'Neill," Teal'c said, falling in at Jack's side.

"Maybe it's the boy scout in me," Jack replied. "Always be prepared." Daniel was alive. After three weeks of nothing, they knew he was alive. Jack would take that miracle and thank the man upstairs for it, but that didn't mean he was going to waltz into the CSPD with hearts and flowers.

"And perhaps you believe as I do that those who wish DanielJackson harm could have been alerted to his presence here as we were."

Yeah. Maybe that was it. From the way Carter and Teal'c were subtly checking out the area on full alert he knew he wasn't alone.

Damned if the NID or the Tok'ra were going to get their hands on Daniel again because Jack was in too much of a hurry.

"T – around back. Carter, check out the lobby and hold here for our retreat." He ground the earwig deeper into his ear. "Radio me if there's any sign of uninvited guests to this little reunion party."

The two peeled off, Teal'c jogging to the right, Carter heading into the glass-framed lobby, nosing into corners and opening doors. Jack paused at the threshold and took a breath. "Hang in there, Danny," he whispered. He slung the door open and strode inside.

The officer at the front desk pointed the way, waving away Jack's credentials in a move that had him biting back a rant on proper procedure. Yeah, great. It's a police station. Who would dare enter with some kind of criminal agenda?

The slim man he'd been directed to stood with his back to the room, pouring coffee into a "World's Greatest Dad" mug.

"Detective Ryan?"

"Yeah?" Turning, the detective frowned, shadowed eyes flashing up and down Jack's figure, assessing.

“I'm Jack O'Neill, USAF. We're here about that John Doe you picked up.”

Ryan frowned. "Another Colonel O'Neill?”

Gut churning, Jack's hand slid towards his side-arm. “What do you mean another one?”

“He just picked Dan up about a minute ago. There were three of them, you must have passed them in the parking lot. Black sedan, government plates?”

Jack lifted the mic clipped to his cuff to his lips. "T – Carter – black sedan, government plates. Three hostiles have our rabbit." Jack stared at Ryan, watched the color drain from his face.

"Descriptions," Jack barked, in no mood for any more delays.

"Uniformed man, grey hair, blue eyes. Two others in camo fatigues, one man, dark hair, tall, one woman, body-builder type. Who the hell –"

Jack swiveled and raced for the door. "Yeah, I'll get back to you on that one," he threw over his shoulder.

"Jack! I see them – they're leaving the parking lot!"

Jacob – and, in the background, Jack heard the squeal of tires and voices shouting.

"Jacob! Jacob!"

Jack stumbled to a halt in the empty parking space where he'd parked the SGC sedan, Carter and Teal'c beside him. In another second, Ryan was there, staring off down the road.

Carter already had her phone out. "This is Major Samantha Carter. ABP on a black sedan, government plates, just seen leaving the CSPD, heading north, with three persons of interest and one kidnap victim, Doctor Daniel Jackson. Subjects are believed to be armed and dangerous. Approach with caution, repeat, approach with caution. O-W tech possible."

Ryan jerked his head at Carter. "Who's she talking to?"

"The Air Force," Jack snarled. "People who won't hand over a valuable asset to any Tom, Dick, or fake Colonel who decides to show up with his hand out."

"Hey!"

Jack lifted his mic. "Jacob! Report!"

After a moment – a long, anxious moment – Jacob responded. "Shut up, Jack! It's been a while since I've driven something on the ground and Selmac is getting car sick!" 

“Another fly-boy?" Ryan asked, his thick layer of sarcasm an obvious cover for his guilt.

"Something like that," Jack muttered. He scanned the parking lot. "Keys!" he shouted, racing towards a marked patrol car.

Ryan kept up, Carter and Teal'c one step behind.

"No thanks, I'll be driving," Ryan shouted, cutting Jack off with a burst of speed and sliding behind the wheel.

Jack did not shoot him. He did not shoot the annoying man. He should get a damned medal. He wrenched open the passenger side door. "Jacob! Where the hell are you?"

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG 

 

They'd shoved him into the back seat, the large woman crowding him in, still clutching his arm in her claw. The other two got into the front, "O'Neill" putting the car in gear and screaming out of the parking lot like all the demons of hell were after him.

"It is good to see you again, Daniel."

Dan turned, eyeing the man beside him for the first time. More images hit him, one after another. 

_The small-statured man, worry creasing his face, wearing a fawn colored tunic. "They're here! Go! Go!" The smell of sulfur. Sweat and heat and blood. Anger. Relief._

He shook his head – a ship? A space ship?

"I – I know you," Dan stuttered. 

"Yes, of course." The man studied him carefully. "You – you do not remember?"

"No," Dan groaned, "I don't remember. I just wish someone would believe me. Tell me what's going on." He raised his hands, wrists still locked together. "What – what did I do?"

The man glared, his eyes glowing gold. "What did you do? You arrogant little fool, you human-"

Dan drew backwards against the woman. Glowing eyes? 

_Aldwin snarled. “Did you think the Tok'ra would simply step aside to allow your upstart race to become the guardians of this knowledge? To dole it out to us in bits and pieces when the entirety of it could save our race?"_

_Daniel lunged forward and then was snapped back to the cot by the thick restraints. “You mean like the Tok'ra do to us every single time we need your help? Or even when you come to us, asking for our help?” He let his head smack against the thin padding, trying to get some kind of rein on his anger. “Aldwin. We're allies. What – what the hell are you doing?”_

"Daniel. My name is Daniel."

"Yes. Your name is Doctor Daniel Jackson. It is fortunate that you are recovering your mind, Daniel, because I am far from finished with it."

The woman lunged, wrapping one arm around Daniel's neck from behind, silencing him. Choking off his airway. "That's where you're wrong, Tok'ra," she seethed, her breath hot against Daniel's skin. "He's given us enough trouble. Our orders are to kill him. To kill both of you."

"No! I need the Goa'uld knowledge! You cannot –"

The tall man from the front seat turned, his handgun pointed at Aldwin's face. "Oh, we can. As soon as we get to the warehouse, you're both dead."

_Dead. He was dead. Fire from the staff weapon hit him in the gut, the pain tearing him in half, he smelled his own flesh burning, his screams dissolving to darkness. On the cold floor of the ha'tak, he fired both weapons. He was the last guard – even if he was dead. And then one strong hand against his cheek, brown eyes anguished, came into focus through his tears._

_His team, dusty, exhausted from working in the mines, ambushed the guard, headed off down the tunnel. "Wait!" The stones fell, broke his shoulder, kept falling, burying him._

Daniel jerked his head backwards, smashing it against the woman's nose. She reeled, her hands lifting just enough so he could duck under them. He surged forward, wrapping the cold metal cuffs around the driver's neck, pulling him sideways, the car twisting to the left. The gun flew back, landing on the seat beside him. He balled both hands into a fist and struck the driver once, twice. The man crumpled sideways over the wheel. Tires squealing, the car hit the ditch and tilted sideways, up, up, too far. It rolled, over and over, Daniel holding as tight as he could to the back of the front seat, arms wrapped around the headrest, legs braced to hold himself still.

He blinked, turning his head in time to see Aldwin fly backwards, his head impacting the side window, cracking it, blood bursting around him like a corona. His glowing eyes stayed locked with Daniel's even as the door fell open and the Tok'ra seemed to be pulled from the car by his belt as the car made another roll.

_Aldwin stood behind a device with a round ball-like control, an arm reaching up above it with a strange lens. Beyond him, a small boy sat, calm and unworried, nearly smiling. Dark eyes reached into Daniel's soul. "Sometimes, the only way to win is to deny the battle."_

Finally, the car came to rest on all four wheels. Daniel scrambled for the gun, and then scrabbled for the keys hanging from the unconscious woman's belt. The man in the passenger seat groaned, half-aware, clutching his right arm to his chest. Daniel crawled along the backseat and out the door, the sounds of the crash still echoing, his left eye blind, aches and sharp pains stabbing at his head, his left ankle, his lower back. The asphalt was hot under the palms of his hands. He managed to jam the key into the handcuffs and get one off, leaving the other one attached.

Brakes screeched. A door creaked open. Daniel managed to get one knee under him, swinging the gun around in a wide arc to his right. 

"Daniel. Thank God. Are you okay?"

Squinting, Daniel tried to bring the man into focus. His glasses – he'd lost – somewhere – 

"Hey, it's okay."

"Stop," he barked, the word tearing its way out of his burning throat. "Don't come any closer."

The man was older. Nearly bald. Dressed in green pants. Black shirt. Windbreaker. 

"Danny. It's me, Jacob. Sam's dad. Can you see me?"

He tightened his grip on the gun. "Stop. I will shoot you." Danny. Sam. He always called them that. Like they were both his kids. Brother and sister. Heads bent together. Walking side by side. _She marched into his home, shouting, waving papers, threatening –_

Daniel tried to keep his arm from shaking, the gun pointed at the man's chest, and then let himself look around. They were on a side-road, trees on both sides. Up ahead, a tall chain-link fence began, closing off a set of metal buildings. Short. Squat. The man in the car had mentioned a warehouse. Killing them in a warehouse. He had to get away.

"Daniel. Please. Let me help you."

No. He couldn't take any chances. Not anymore. Solomon had called the police. Ryan had called the Air Force. Trust was not going to happen – not again. He took a step forward. "No. Slowly, get back in your car. You're driving us out of here."

"Okay. Good. I can do that."

Hands still up, Jacob turned slowly, keeping his eyes towards Daniel as Daniel walked around towards the passenger door. They stood on either side, the man lowering his hands to rest them on the car. "It's good to see you. Jack and Sam and the others have been looking for you for weeks. They're right behind me."

"What?" More faces rushed by. Sometimes kind, laughing, other times angry, filled with rage. The silver-haired man pointed a gun at him.

Behind the older man, a gunshot – two – rang out from the wreck of the other car. Jacob groaned, knees buckling.

No! Daniel moved to his right to get a clear shot. It was Aldwin. Rising from the grass verge, he limped closer. The left side off his face had been torn away, skin ragged, blood dripping in thick waves onto his shirt. His right arm hung limp, mangled, his leg dragging behind. But his eyes glowed a steady gold, teeth clenched in fury. 

"You should have stayed on Vorash, old woman! Stayed with your nattering group of old men who talk and talk and talk and do nothing to save our race!"

Jacob twisted around to face the threat, propped up by the car at his back. "Arawn. What are you doing?" His voice echoed with the same deep thrum as the other's. "This is not the Tok'ra way – you're no different from a Goa'uld!"

_"You're no different from a Goa'uld." Daniel, exhausted, aching, dying, stared up into his own eyes._

"Stop it," he murmured, left hand pressed against his temple. "Stop it. I can't – I won't –" He tore himself from the images, the pain and defeat and fear following him, curling around his nerves as if they would smother him. 

_He carried Sam's weapon and stared at the tank of larvae. Hate filled him, rushed up from his gut, his beautiful wife's face twisted into evil. He fired, holding down the trigger, until the tank disintegrated into shards, and the grey symbiotes were torn into pieces._

_The soldiers stood at the base of the stairs, Jack, Kawalsky, Benson. The boy-king Ra sat on his throne, pointing, commanding. Daniel saw the flash of light and spun, firing the staff weapon into Ra's guards, killing them, strafing the armored aliens._

No. He wasn't a killer. A murderer. Daniel pressed the heel of his hand against his head, blinking the blood out of his eyes. Arawn was raising his weapon. Aiming at Jacob. He couldn't miss from this distance.

Daniel pulled the trigger. Shot Arawn. Twice in the chest. Once in the throat. Once between the eyes.

Yes. He was a killer.

He ran.


	6. Chapter 6

Pt 6

Jack and Carter got to Jacob's side at the same time, piling out of Ryan's police car while it was still moving. Jack didn't need to look back to know Teal'c would be at the other car, making sure nobody still ambulatory was going to give them any trouble.

Jacob was pale but awake, the puddle of blood underneath his right leg a pretty good indication of his health.

"Damned Arawn clipped me when my back was turned." Jacob turned his head against the car door and opened his eyes. "Never liked the slimy little bastard."

"Yeah, well, me neither," Jack stated honestly. He didn't like any of them. "How's Selmac?"

"Busy," Jacob replied with a wet cough.

Carter had already cut away the fatigue pants to get a closer look at the wound. Bleeding had stopped already.

Jacob's hand came across hers gently. "I'm okay kiddo. Go find Daniel."

"You saw Daniel?"

"Yeah," Jacob smiled. "He's okay. A little banged around, and a lot confused." The Tok'ra lifted his head away from the car to glare at Jack. "Did you know that he'd lost his memory? He didn't know me, didn't know himself."

Jack nodded grimly. "Detective Ryan filled us in. Daniel told him he didn't remember. Ryan didn't believe him." Again, Jack deserved a medal for not strangling the man right there in the car.

"No wonder he didn't contact us." Carter squeezed her dad's hand. "I can't imagine –"

No time for that. Jack pushed himself to his feet, turning 360 degrees to check out the surroundings. "Teal'c?"

The Jaffa stood from his crouch next to a crumpled body. "I believe that both Aldwin and Arawn are dead, O'Neill. There is another body behind the wheel of the automobile." He pointed. "There is a trail of blood heading in that direction."

"One of them went after him," Jacob offered, trying to lever himself up off the ground. Carter's hand on his shoulder held him in place. "Over there," he jerked his chin towards the fenced-off area down the road. "Daniel headed towards the warehouses. Sam-" he winced when he jostled his injured leg, "-I’m pretty sure that's the location of the naquadah reading we were getting back at the base."

"So Daniel's headed straight into the enemy camp. Well, isn't that – exactly what I'd expect," Jack groaned. "He must not have lost all his memories, he still remembers how to stand up right in front of the bad guys with the guns." He leaned in through the open car window and opened the glove box, grabbing the two zats he'd stashed in there. He handed one to Jacob, and gave the other one to Carter. "Reinforcements are coming, Jacob, but keep an eye on that guy." He nodded towards Aldwin's crumpled body. "And that one," he indicated Detective Ryan. "You're still an Air Force general. Throw some weight around if the locals get here first."

"You got it." Jacob twisted his neck, staring up at Jack. "Go get our boy."

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

Daniel slid between the chained gates, pushing and shoving until he could fit, tearing a new hole in the back of the blue jacket and making a lot more noise than he expected to. He crouched just inside the fence, camouflaged by the scruffy undergrowth and listened. Nothing. No voices. No machinery, no approaching cars. He watched the long, low building, the wide rolling doors shut and heavily padlocked. Rusty. Weeds clawing their way up between cracked asphalt. It looked deserted. Unused. Long abandoned.

Except for the two guards out at the front gate who had made that entry point impossible.

At least the windows on this side were high and covered with grime. Daniel watched for another moment, then sprinted to the building, sliding along the side towards the smaller door that had been propped open with a couple of cinderblocks.

Deliberate trap or overlooked weakness?

He shifted the gun to his left hand and wiped his sweaty palm on his pants. It didn't matter. They were coming and he needed to get inside. To find out – he gripped the gun firmly – to find out, once and for all, who he was and why the world wanted him dead. And whether or not he deserved it.

Slipping inside, he quickly side-stepped into the deeper shadows to his right and waited for his eyes to adjust. Dim sunlight filtered through layers of dust and filth from the small square windows and a row of skylights peppered with bird droppings. Pallets. Stacks and rows of empty pallets surrounded the door on three sides, dusty and crumbling, just like you'd expect. Daniel took a slow breath and then moved.

Slow and careful, he left the area by the door, rounded a column of pallets that reached almost to the ceiling, and stepped into Oz.

This area was clean, the floor free of dust or grime, the metal shelves – and the strange devices they contained – sparkling. Daniel lowered his gun as he moved forward, eyes wide. 

Computers. Stacks of servers. Those he recognized. Loops and coils of wire tied them to the other things. A great grey ball hovering between upright arms carved with figures. Other devices with ball-like controls and screens of their own. A waist-high stand, four feet wide, gold and glowing, two jeweled bracelets set with finger-caps resting on horizontal blank screens. Hand devices, his mind filled in. A control console – pel'tac – from a ship. 

To his left stood racks and racks of staff weapons. Zats. Concussion grenades. Tacs. Stacks of crystals. Communication balls. He glanced back to the massive one already primed and humming. Like on Apophis' ship. Older tech. Nothing new. It all looked shiny and alien but Daniel had seen the kinds of tech Nirrti and Hathor had used. This could have been second-hand stuff found at a Goa'uld flea market.

Goa'uld. Tok'ra. Glowing eyes. Homicidal. They came through the – the – 

Stargate.

Daniel dropped to his knees, hands pressed to his head, handgun banging against his temple.

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

The two at the entrance were down. Zatted and zip-tied. Jack was already crossing the open space between the guard shack and the warehouse when Carter and Teal'c were finishing up. No more waiting. No more patience. Reinforcements would be arriving soon and Jack was going to have an unharmed Daniel standing beside him when that happened.

The open door on the side of the building beckoned. Jack slipped inside, quiet and quick. Squinted at the darkness. Touched one finger to the smear of blood on the pallet next to him. Traced a single track of footprints in the dust. "Rabbit tracks. North end," he muttered into his mic. 

Teal'c responded. "East." Jack heard the muffled bang through the radio connection. Teal'c had found his own way in.

"South," Carter confirmed a half-second later.

Jack turned left and followed his nose, the sounds of gunfire and zats erupting from where he knew his teammates would be. "Keep them busy, campers," he advised.

"Roger that, sir."

 

SG SG SG SG SG SG

 

_He stood at the open wormhole, far behind the others, the soldiers and all their gear having gone before. He still didn't quite believe it – believe it was true, real. He grinned, raising one hand, fingers spread, to feel the surface tension, the buzz along his skin, the pull of it, like it wanted him to step inside. Like it connected to something down deep in his soul._

_Ra. Slaves. Angry soldiers. That blank, empty look in Jack' eyes._

_"I don't want to die. And your men don't want to die, and these people certainly don't want to die. It's a shame you're in such a hurry to."_

_Sha're. They'd taken Sha're. His heart clenched, refusing to beat. She didn't even know him. Apophis smiled and raised the hand device. Daniel slammed against the wall, head cracking against the stone._

_Shyla. He'd saved her from falling. From jumping. And she'd sent them to the mines. Jack was right – Daniel was an idiot. The box had healed him. Started a yearning, a hunger for more. More power. Arrogant anger took hold in his psyche. He smiled as Jack knelt before him in chains._

_Facing him in a dark store room, riddled with fear and dread, shaking, gun wavering in his grasp._

_"Are you trying to kill me?"_

Gunfire. Zat blasts.

"No!" Daniel wrenched his eyes open, shoving the images away, trying to focus on the reality around him. The dim warehouse. The Goa'uld tech. He struggled to his feet, turning back, away from the memories. Outside. He had to get outside.

A man ran into the open space in front of the pel'tac. He raised his gun. Two shots from Daniel's right sounded off, the bullets spinning the man back to strike the pel'tac with the crunch of bone. He fell, lay still, dark red blood pooling. Daniel raised his gun, falling back against the stand of shelves to his right. Who – who'd found him? 

"Hey, Daniel."

The silver-haired man stepped into the dim puddle of light between the eight-foot shelves. No uniform. Dark eyes instead of blue. But Daniel knew this was O'Neill. Colonel O'Neill. Darker, leaner, with more sharp edges than the man who'd dragged him from the police station. A strange aura of compassion and coldness surrounding him. He held a gun down, against his right leg.

Daniel tightened the grip on his own gun, brought it up.

"No. Stop. Don't –"

"Hey, you don't want to shoot me. C'mon, Daniel. You know me."

A flood of memories drowned him. This man, in every state – sick, hurt, dying - showing every emotion. Anger. Frustration. Relief. He could read O'Neill's - Jack's - thoughts by the set of his jaw, the spark in his eyes, and the stillness of his fingers. The scenes played out in quick succession. At first they were filled with friendship, trust, patience. A steadying hand on his shoulder. A hand cradling his cheek, ruffling through his hair. And then – distance. A condescending wave. A grimace. The back of Jack's head as he walked away. 

Harsh words were replaced by silences. Absences. Distrust.

The scrape of O'Neill's boot on the floor brought Daniel back and he straightened his arm, gun aimed at the man's chest. His own chest was tight, breaths like gasps in too little air. "No – stop –"

"Listen. Just listen a minute." Jack lifted his right hand slowly, light glinting off the barrel of his gun, his fingers open. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to put this down, okay?"

All Daniel could see was the gun's barrel.

_Daniel watched the display from his chair. Yes, he'd based its construction on a Goa'uld command chair on a ha'tak, but had foregone stone and opted for upholstered leather. He flipped switches, making sure the satellite net was operating correctly, ready for any threat from without or within. He knew they would try to stop him. Try to curtail his power. Fools. He rested his left hand on the touch screen, eager for the next move in this chess match. Anticipation fueled his excitement. He knew what they'd make him do to prove himself. Prove himself worthy of their respect. Their awe. Their slavish devotion._

_"What are you doing, Daniel?"_

_"What I knew I would have to do."_

_Jack stood, facing him. Brought the gun out from beneath his shirt. A flare of light glinted off the barrel._

_"Don't. Daniel, don't."_

_Six shots bounced off the shield around his command chair. Daniel smiled. "You never were too bright, were you?"_

"You did – you tried to – to kill me." Daniel steadied his grip even as Jack lowered his weapon, knees bent, to drop it to the floor. "Why? What – what did I do? I did something. Something – something bad." His whole body was trembling, shaking. "I've – I've killed. Betrayed –"

"No, Daniel. Never. You've never betrayed anyone."

"I did. I must have," he insisted, his left hand fisted at his temple. "It's all jumbled up. But I remember making you kneel. Sending T – Teal'c to his death –"

"Never happened." Jack shook his head.

"I did! You – you were dirty. Tired. You said, 'the man who would be king.'"

He watched Jack's jaw clench. His lips thin. "Yes. You're right. But that was a long time ago. And, well, you weren't quite yourself."

Daniel shook his head in small, jerky movements, hysteria rising. "Not- not myself. Who am I? It's like there's two people in here," he smacked his fist into the side of his head. "I tried to kill you. Did something to make you - make you all turn on me. Turn me out. Leave –" He couldn't do it, couldn't keep hold of himself. "Or maybe you killed me. Tried. Shot me."

"Daniel. You're confused. I'll admit things haven't been great, but I never shot you. I wouldn't hurt you."

"Liar," Daniel managed to ground out between his chattering teeth.

Hands up as if in surrender, Jack moved closer. "You're right. I've hurt you. I've acted like a jerk. But all that's behind us. And, I promise, if you come with me now, with me and Carter and Teal'c, we'll make sure you don't ever get left behind again."

"Carter?" The beautiful blond woman, partner in crime, sister, strong, capable woman. Ranting. Raving. He'd locked her away. "She's here?"

"Yep. Cleaning up some crap, but she's here. So's Teal'c."

Dark skin, gold tattoo. Protector. Brother. He'd killed – Sha're – she fell down beside him, her chest a smoking ruin. Daniel had sent him away to die. "Not dead?"

"Nope. Alive and kicking – kicking NID butt, if I'm not mistaken." Jack inched closer.

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. Daniel looked into the other man's eyes. Searched there for answers, as he had done so many times before. There was no anger. No disdain. No rejection. Nothing he expected. Just – just – Just Jack.

"Jack?"

"Right here." Jack caught Daniel before he could fall, took the gun from his hand, placing it carefully on the shelf beside them, and then wrapped both arms around Daniel, holding him against his chest. "Right here. Not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry," Daniel whispered as his legs buckled, taking them both down to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Aw, Daniel." Jack held on tighter. "Me, too."

Jack's arms were strong. A brother's arms. Strong and firm and familiar.

"We'll get through this. We always do," Jack whispered.

Daniel believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one left now. Thank you for your feedback!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wraps up my little story. Thank you so much for your comments and your kudos! Stargate Fandom will always be my foundation.

Epilogue

One Week Later

Daniel walked towards his office, head down, hands in his pockets. Janet had finally released him to full duty after a couple of days in the infirmary and a few more of mandatory light duty. The last tests were finished, and everyone was satisfied that he had his true memories back. Everyone but Daniel.

True, Shifu's dream was fading. The knowledge of Goa'uld technology had faded first, as if that was the part of the dream Daniel cared the least about. Funny. That was the knowledge that everyone else had wanted. The government. The NID. The Tok'ra. Arawn. The parts that stayed with Daniel, that still woke him up shouting and sweating some nights, were different. The arrogance. The cruelty. And, if he was being particularly honest with himself, the loneliness. Setting himself apart – above – his friends in that nightmare had reinforced his deep-seated fear of abandonment and the horrible notion that, somehow, he deserved it. Deserved to be alone.

He hoped that, without Shifu's 'teaching,' he would not have minded the changes undergoing SG-1. Or not minded as much. That the guilt and grief that seeped through from the dream wouldn't have hit him so hard in real life; that the egotism of the Goa'uld wouldn't have had him second guessing every word, every thought, every reaction. 

Rubbing his arms and yawning, Daniel reached for his office door, realizing, a second later, that it was already open. Lights on. Voices reaching him from inside.

He smiled and shook his head. The three musketeers were waiting for him. Or the three stooges, depending on the day. All Daniel knew was that they were staying close these days. Very, very close. Singly, in pairs, or all three ganging up on him, Sam, Teal'c, and Jack weren't often letting him out of their sight. He didn't mind. It felt good. He felt a lot more like himself when SG-1, in all of their idiosyncratic, weird, messed up glory acted like friends. Brothers and sisters in the strangest family dynamic ever. Turning the corner, he put his hands on his hips, staring at Jack twisting a clay figure from PR3-929 in his hands, Sam brushing off coffee grounds from his counter with a paper towel, and Teal'c setting his books into precise stacks. Maybe mother hens would be a better description.

Teal'c's dark eyes found him first. The quiet, intense warrior from another world simply watched, without needing to say a word. Daniel had learned a lot from Teal'c over the years of their strange friendship – even more about himself. About his capacity for holding a grudge – especially against himself – and how real strength can be found in silence, in dignity, and in the utterly immovable position of standing between danger and ignorance. Doing the right thing for the right reason, even if it broke your own heart. 

Dream-Daniel had thrust Teal'c away, barely able to imagine this stalwart warrior in the same universe as Daniel's greed for power. Teal'c had had access to Goa'uld technology for decades and yet he hadn't used that knowledge to suppress others, to build up a kingdom for himself. He had come to Earth to offer his blood and breath in service to those he'd always believed were a weaker race. Any reminder of Teal'c's honor would have shown up Daniel's supposed 'superiority' as the rantings of a pouting child.

Daniel caught his friend's eye and nodded, hoping to put every ounce of gratitude, understanding, and shared sorrow into the simple gesture. Of course, Teal'c understood. His smile rested in his eyes, and the slight tilt of his head might have been an entire speech for a different man – but was no less heart-warming.

"Daniel!" Sam's bright eyes had registered Teal'c's movement and followed his glance to the door. Her smile lit up the dusty, crowded, windowless room and still had the power to prompt an answering grin from Daniel. Her solid presence the past few days had done a lot to dispel the images of that other Sam, the one who challenged him, criticized, disagreed with every assessment and expected to be heeded. In his mind, in Shifu's dream, he'd built her up to be the literal thorn in his side and then, like any ego-driven fantasy, he'd locked her away where her power over him became powerlessness. It might be pop-psychology, but it made a lot of sense.

Sam would always be a powerful woman, a teammate with the brains and drive to achieve success in the prehistorically minded man's world of the military. She'd always fight for her right to be heard, and she and Daniel would still disagree, but this past week had given him a glimpse of their old bond, the camaraderie of scientists among warriors, and the forgiveness and love they'd always had for each other as the foundation of their relationship. 

Her quiet apologies in the infirmary had made Daniel squirm. But, somehow, they'd both gotten through it, with a dozen chocolate walnut cookies and two mocha Frappuccinos she'd smuggled in from Starbucks. They'd both come away from that talk exhausted, embarrassed, and with mutual promises to listen to each other more and argue less. And with the confirmed belief that sugar and chocolate should be standard tools available to the SGC on any difficult diplomatic mission. Maybe they should send a couple of truckloads to the Tok'ra.

Jacob had spent the first few days of Daniel's recovery in the infirmary bed beside him, generally grousing about any need for Janet's help, and the fact that none of the recovered Goa'uld weaponry was going to be shared with the Tok'ra. He'd reminded General Hammond that it was Jacob and Selmac who brought the device they'd needed to find the warehouse as well as the information about Aldwin/Arawn. The Tok'ra had, in fact, acted in good faith as soon as they'd identified the problem. Daniel had stayed quiet, his last sight of Arawn, dead, by his hand, almost heavy enough to outweigh the memory of the Tok'ra standing over him, gloating about torturing him for information that Daniel didn't have. Almost.

Jack had taken one look at Daniel's pale silence and stepped in. "Hey! If it wasn't for your buddy Aldwin and his other snake-head traitors, none of this would have happened in the first place!"

Jacob had quieted down after that. After another apology Daniel hadn't needed.

Sam hurried forward with a hug. "Did Janet release you?"

"Finally," Jack added, setting the figurine back in its place. "The universe is waiting, after all. Bad guys to thump, squiggly lines to translate."

"Yes. Janet cleared me," Daniel interrupted. He slipped past his teammates to hover over his desk, wanting nothing more than to put all of this behind them. To get back to some kind or normalcy. "So, what's the next mission?"

When he looked up, he noticed Jack doing that 'unsaid orders' thing with Sam and Teal'c, shooing them out of his office with a few glances and finger wiggles.

"The next mission is dinner. We'll see you tonight, Daniel."

Dinner. Right. Daniel shivered, trying not to think too much about their last outing at O'Malley's. "Where are we going?"

Teal'c seemed delighted with himself. "I have chosen a new type of Earth food that I wish to try. I believe that MajorCarter will be most interested in this as it is prepared using nuclear materials."

Jack did a double-take. "Wait- what?"

"Indeed." Teal'c half-bowed. "It is called Fusion."

Daniel snickered, giving Teal'c a thumbs up as he and Sam walked off.

"Oy," Jack groaned, one hand clapped over his eyes.

Daniel lowered himself to his chair. Leaned back. It's not like he wasn't expecting this. Jack wasn't about to talk to him in the infirmary where every nurse and pre-mission SG team – and probably a banged-up Siler - was listening. Jack opening up about what had gone wrong with SG-1 – with their friendship – at all was going to be a miracle, but in the infirmary? Daniel settled back for a long wait. Give Jack a figurine to fiddle with or some runny infirmary eggs to poke at and he'd gladly provoke Daniel to laughter, imagining that that was all it took to get them back on track. But honest talk about mistakes? About failure? Jack was not good at talking – and even worse at apologies. 

"You apologized to me once," Daniel blurted, surprising himself at that memory's sudden intrusion.

"Once?" Jack stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the other side of the desk.

"I remembered it, back there, when I was," Daniel twirled a confused finger at the side of his head. "I could see you, see the Eurondan tunnel collapsing around us. You reached out and grabbed my hand when I was dialing."

"Yeah. I remember."

"But I couldn't hear what you said. I couldn't remember the words." Daniel looked up at his friend. At the creases in the corners of his eyes, the worry-lines deepening between his eyebrows. "All I could remember was you being angry at me. Walking away. And then it all got mixed up with Shifu's dream."

"In which, apparently, I tried to shoot you." Jack shrugged his shoulders. "I wish you'd told us about what happened in that stupid dream, Daniel. Maybe we could have –" he trailed off with another shrug.

"What, talked about it?" He snorted a laugh. "Us?"

"We suck at that."

"We truly do," Daniel agreed.

Jack pursed his lips and then moved around the desk to perch on the side of it, facing Daniel. "Okay. Let me remind you. Repeat what I said over the DVD in that heart-wrenching Hallmark moment of ours."

Daniel remembered just fine, now. "Jack, you don't –"

One pointed finger stopped him.

"What I said was, that I was rude and short-sighted and sorry."

"Yes, I know –"

"And that is as true now as it was then."

"I understand that, Jack –"

"No, Daniel, I don't think you do."

Daniel looked into Jack's eyes and shut his mouth. Jack was trying to tell him something. Maybe he should take a page from Teal'c's book and shut up and listen. He took a deep breath and nodded.

Jack folded his hands together. "Once upon a time," Jack began with a hint of a smile, "a geek and a colonel went through a big stone ring. They met some good guys and some bad guys. The geek made new friends and married a princess. The colonel, well, he learned some hard truths about himself –"

"- and kicked some alien ass –"

"- and kicked some alien ass," Jack accepted, nodding, "and, eventually, through bad times and worse times and not so bad times, the two became friends. Good friends. The kind of friends who sometimes screw up, say unforgiveable things, and still that _foundation_ is steady as a rock." His eyebrows danced on that particular word.

"Friends who are so completely different in upbringing, in nature, and in personality," Daniel added, "that they are very often exactly the same."

"In the best and the worst ways," Jack agreed. "Anyway, these two chumps met up with a couple of other geek slash warrior-types, formed a crazy-strong bond, and went on many an adventure."

Daniel scrunched back in his chair, hands clasped in his lap. "This is a good story, Jack. I'm thinking you should write a screenplay."

"Tut-tut, now," Jack admonished, "don't make fun. I've seen stuff a lot more crazy on Saturday night television."

Shivering, Daniel remembered a certain movie about bees. Swarms of killer bees. "Sorry."

"As I was saying." Jack tugged on his jacket, a tell-tale sign that what came next was going to be a lot more serious. "This team that was created, this foursome, if you will, was strong. Courageous. Smarter than a whip. Than two whips. They faced a pretty fierce enemy and, generally, came home in one piece. And, as long as those two guys, the geek and the colonel, kept their heads on straight and watched each other's backs, they were unstoppable."

Daniel swallowed. "And then what happened?"

Jack sighed. "And then, there were losses. A lot of grief. Some desperation. A heavy load of demands from outside this happy group that didn't do anybody any good. Stress. Pain. Which led to miscalculations. Arguments. Stupid, pig-headedness. And some stress-relief of the fantasy variety."

"'Fantasy variety?'"

"Yeah, Daniel," Jack deflated. "Honestly. Nothing happened."

Daniel raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Nothing beyond stupid flirting and whispering and middle-school type longing glances. Oh, and let's not forget carrying her books to school and back and leaving the other members of the team on the outside wondering what in the hell happened."

It didn't sound like 'nothing' to Daniel. It hadn't felt like nothing, either. But he didn't say it. It didn't matter. It was really none of his business. Jack and Sam were adults – 

"Nope. I'm going to stop you right there," Jack said, knocking his knuckles on Daniel's desk.

"What? I didn't say anything."

"No, but I could hear you thinking. I could see the wheels going around in that brain. Stop making up excuses for me – and for Carter. There are rules about team members, especially about team leaders and subordinates. Those rules are there for a reason. Because a team can't survive when the focus is twisted up in fantasy. When a man's – or a woman's – attention is on the gonads, not on the objective." Jack twisted his neck, trying to dispel the heavy weight of this awkward discussion. "No matter how devastatingly good-looking the teammates are, they can't think of each other that way. Not even a little. Not if they want to work together." He crossed his arms. "Friendship is one thing. Family is one thing. The warrior-bond of the soul, is one thing. But romance – that's a quick road to team collapse and catastrophe."

The silence between them was painful but necessary. Jack's eyes were dark with guilt and remorse. Daniel could only guess that his reflected back the same.

"I don't want you to be alone, Jack."

His friend – his best friend, smiled. "You were not listening to the story, book-guy."

"Yes, I was."

"No, no you weren't." Jack waggled his eyebrows. "How did the story start?"

"'Once upon a time,'" Daniel repeated.

"Yes," Jack made a keep going gesture. 

Daniel rolled his eyes. "'Once upon a time a geek and a colonel went through a big stone ring.'"

Jack clapped his hands together. "Yep. You've got it."

"What – what have I got?" Daniel tried to sort out the ups and downs and twists of this conversation and came up with – Oh. Oh, that.

Jack's smile was knowing. "Yep. That."

"'A geek and a colonel.'"

"Uh-huh. Those two. That's where the story starts. And, as long as those two stay together, shoulder to shoulder, brothers-in-arms –"

Daniel laughed. "Watching each other's sixes, on and off mission –"

"Finishing each other's sentences-"

"Arguing and banging heads and –"

"And reminding each other of the real enemy, and the real weapons we have to fight them –"

"Including those other devastatingly good-looking teammates –"

"Like knowledge and friendship and big honking space guns –"

"Okay, okay, Jack, I get it." Daniel stood up just as Jack was reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. In perfect sync, with perfect timing. He grabbed Jack's wrist and held on.

The silence this time was warm. Familiar. Just right.

"So," Jack broke away, arms flailing wide as if to encompass the two of them, the team, the SGC, even the universe. "We good?"

Daniel heard the real questions. The questions about healing. About loss and grief, stress and sorrow. About finding not just Daniel's true memories of his life and their friendship, but all of the dark, painful ones, too. About forgiveness. The questions about two men, two friends, finding their way through smoke and blood, blindness and ignorance, and even death, back to each other's sides.

Even in the confusion of his amnesia, of the dream of world domination, Daniel would always reach out for Jack. For the comfort of a brother. The warmth of their bond stretching out firmly across whatever happened to separate them.

"We're good," he stated evenly, watching the grave concern Jack tried to hide beneath banter and whimsy and silliness turn to hope. To the still, calm happiness of friendship tried by fire and water, life and death. A geek and a colonel. It was the best story.

Shoulder to shoulder walking down the hallway to the elevator, maybe Daniel bumped into Jack a couple of times. Maybe Jack bumped back. 

"Fusion, huh? Are you going to tell Teal'c, or am I?"

End.


End file.
